Redemption
by Llassah
Summary: Spoilers for HBP within.Slash. Can Snape be saved? And is Harry really the one who can save him? Will dance for reviews. Completed.
1. Chapter 1

Severus Snape,

Do not interfere with what I and the Order are doing. Voldemort is our primary concern. This is not your battle. We will not be pursuing you. We will not attack you. If you make any attempt to harm persons affiliated to the Order or to the side of Light, we will take immediate and painful action. Once the War is over, you will have an opportunity to prove your motives. Until then, unless you verify otherwise, you are no longer on our side.

Harry James Potter

Harry finished the letter, and, feeling seized by an irrational urge to put kisses after his name, tied it the leg of a Wizard Post owl. He had no idea if Snap would try to harm Hedwig, but he didn't want to take a chance. He had given up trying to predict what would happen, and was sure that there were many things about the former professor he had no idea about. He had done much thinking about Dumbledore's death, and decided that, being such an intelligent and near-omniscient headmaster, he must have thought that Severus Snape was, if not entirely on the side of the Order, at least able to help in the Battle with Voldemort. So he was stating his intentions to Snape, at least giving him the opportunity to redeem himself. This had already caused arguments at the last Order meeting, which Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had attended.

"You think we should WHAT?"

Harry sighed. The news of his offer of amnesty to the fugitives had been met with protest, with several Order members on their feet. Harry allowed the outraged wizards to talk for about a minute, and then held up his hand. The Great Hall at Hogwarts fell silent.

"Dumbledore knew Snape. And on the night he…well, what was he pleading for? For Snape to kill him, so that Malfoy was still redeemable? And Snape was bound to Malfoy in some way. And…" Here he paused once more, overtaken by grief "And we're going to lose so many people in this sodding war, that I want to save as many as I can. So you DO NOT attack them, unless they attack first, if they are captured, I want them alive, and if the Ministry get hold of them, then we try to save them. For the time being, they are neutral. The real enemy is Voldemort"

They agreed, reluctantly, to Harry's commands, and talk moved once more onto Death Eater strategy. Harry knew he had done the right thing. Dumbledore would have done the same. Even if he couldn't advise Harry, or help him in his quest, he knew that Dumbledore would be proud, at least, that Harry had decided to do what was harder, but nonetheless, correct. The next year would see if his choice did indeed help him, or hinder him until defeat and destruction. But at least he had tried. At least he had done something other than get angry once more, or punch things, or cry. And, sure, it was a risk, a gamble, but what were chances for if not to be taken? Remus had approached him after, to ask him to be careful.

"Severus Snape is… complicated. Things were never straightforward with him. He has spent his adult life lying to everyone, and to know that no one knows you; really knows you, is an isolating experience. Be careful, Harry. And good luck."

Harry had returned his embrace, feeling amazed at how forgiving the last Marauder could be, but then, he had to have an affinity with Snape, to be aware of the isolation of being hated and feared. He had worded the letter carefully, to make it both impersonal and non-confrontational. He had to show he had grown up, to make this work.

So the letter was sent. As he had done so often over the past week, he wondered how much his father was responsible for Snape turning to Voldemort. It was one of the many things he wanted to know about him. For a year, he had known Snape in two different ways, from a book, and from a loathed professor. He still could not believe that they were the same man. He had come to like one aspect of Snape, and view him as a sort of friend. This Snape had taught him, and although some of the spells were dark, they would all be useful in the upcoming battle. And he had respect for Snape's intelligence, the man was a genius, with a sense of humour that was, although twisted, far from the dour, sarcastic man he had come to loathe over the six years he had attended Hogwarts. He would not judge Snape, and he had so many other times before. He would not be like James. Or like Sirius.

So, finally it was over. The wedding had taken place. He was alone. He had taken his leave of Hogwarts, the Dursley's and the Order, and taken residence temporarily in Godrics Hollow, renting a room. He appreciated the synchronicity of his choice; to stay in a place in which Voldemort was brought down somehow felt _right. _Although he had not managed to persuade Ron and Hermione not to follow him in his dangerous quest, he got them to stay with their parents for three weeks, and so he was able to think once more. He had been doing that a lot. He sometimes thought that the last year had purged him of the last of his illusions. Now he was older, wiser and sadder than he once was. But he could still feel, and care, and love. He was on his way to becoming someone who could become a hero, to gather people together. He could comprehend his enemy, and all he saw was a pathetic husk of a man too scared to die, and yet unwilling to live. A man who hate and cunning filled, until there was no room for pity, or compassion, or love. It would be love that saved Harry, and love was what could save all the lost souls that Harry had to gather together in the darkness so they would cry no more. He was ready now. Dumbledore had done that much before he was murdered. And only one person would be able to say if it was with love or hate that the spell was hissed.

Harry always slept lightly, his wand in his hand. Moody had had a profound effect on him, although he didn't fear dustbins yet. So it was with great ease that he was able to tackle the intruder and point the wand at their forehead before the skinny, pale hand closed around his throat. He still couldn't sleep in his glasses, however, and could only make out a pale face with fathomless black eyes. So the reply to his letter was to be delivered personally. Possibly painfully. Shite.

Standing up, Harry retrieved his glasses from the bedside table and muttered 'lumos', illuminating the face of Severus Snape, formerly Potions Master and Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. It was a shock

"You look like shit, sir" he remarked without rancour. It was true. Snape had always looked forbidding, with his hooked nose, greasy hair and yellowed teeth, but now he was emaciated, with bruises on one cheekbone and matted hair.

Snape regarded him with empty eyes.

"If you have written that letter primarily to gain an opportunity to insult me, I wouldn't bother. I'm sure that half the Wizarding world has proclaimed its utter hatred of me in some form or another. So please, just leave me to be a public menace in peace."

This was delivered flatly, without anger, or any emotion. He had given up. Completely. It was as if killing Dumbledore had been his last act; he had done what he had wanted to, and now he was waiting to die, passively accepting what may come. Or had he given up from loss? Was it guilt? Harry didn't know.

"You've given up." He said flatly.

"Yes, Potter. I have. Are you happy now? Does it fill you with joy, that Severus Snape, greasy git and all-round bastard has finally decided that life isn't worth living?"

Harry was shocked. Snape's demise had been his mission; he had thought himself unshakeable in his resolve, until he had sat down and really thought, next to Dumbledore's grave. The Headmaster's presence was so strong there, and Harry had stayed out all night in a sort of vigil, considering what Dumbledore believed; his gifts, his mistakes, his intelligence. One thing that he had always been adamant about was his unshakeable trust in Snape. Despite all evidence to the contrary, somehow he had believed in his goodness. There must have been something that made him believe that. Some spark, some hope, some need to be good. And as he had come to this conclusion, the first rays of dawn had crept over the tomb, and Harry felt some sort of approval within the atmosphere of that place, and had known he was doing right.

"I don't want you dead, Sir. I wanted to…help you."

Snape stood up and stared at him. The first spark of emotion had shown in his eyes; it was a bitter amusement.

"Well, Potter, it was a good joke, now hurry up and kill me."

Why didn't he believe him? Then Harry remembered all the other lies he had told to him; all the times he had avoided trouble, somehow managing to escape expulsion.

"I still don't want to kill you. And you don't want to be dead." He said firmly.

"What do I have to live for now, boy?"

"Draco Malfoy. You looked after him last year, helped him to escape, and he needs you. I can keep the Order away from you; provide some measure of protection from the Ministry."

"And you would do all that for me, boy? Why?"

"I feel like it" he answered flippantly.

Suddenly he was grabbed once more by the throat, and slammed up against the wall. Snape was scarily strong; he saw stars.

"Don't you _dare_ speak about my safety in such a cavalier fashion! Perfect Harry bloody Potter, who can do whatever the hell he likes, save whoever he likes, on a whim! You don't even bother to ward your house, you're so sodding special! You can send letters of a secret nature without protecting them from interceptors. But you have no power over me, boy. Your father never did, you never will."

Well, at least he was angry now. Harry found it a struggle to speak, but somehow managed it, enunciating the words clearly and carefully.

"Put me down. We are going to sit at a table, in a civilised way, and talk. I am going to explain myself, you are going to explain yourself. And the letter shows nothing, save a potential opportunity to once again act as a spy for Voldemort. It is the letter of a foolish boy determined to believe the best of people. And I have warded the property against those loyal to Voldemort. Apparently, you are not. We are going to talk about that as well. Just let me go. Please."

He let go. They walked through to the living room, and sat at the table. All in all, that meeting could have been worse, thought Harry, massaging his neck.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Change in POV here, chaps and chapesses. Lets get a look into Snape's delectable little mind…

So, this was interesting. Sitting here, in the presence of a boy who reminded him so much of the other Potter, the one who was one of the reasons he was reduced to such…wretchedness. Of course, it simply fitted in well with what he expected that the damn room was furnished in pink sodding chintz, and he was currently staring at a lamp with a _fairy_ as its stem. And not one of the malevolent little shits that reminded him so much of first years at Hogwarts, all greed and grasping, but a pretty one, with a vapid expression, with pink wings and a sparkly dress. Merlin! This had better be bloody worth it!

_C'mon, Potter, let's get on with the tears and accusations! Remind me why I decided I'd rather chance it with Malfoy, show some of that famous Potter breeding. Make my day. Even a simple 'But I trusted you!' would go one hell of a log way to warming the chill that wraps around my weaselly black heart. Fine. Let's get things started._

"Surprised, are we, Potter? Can't decide what to do with mean, nasty Snape now he's answered your nice, grown up letter? Is the famous Gryffindor magnanimity sticking in your craw?"

"You know, _Snape, _I think Bellatrix is better at that line in insults. Something to do with the delivery. You should get some lessons off her. I don't think cooing is truly your style"

Impudence! Little whelp actually sounded calm about his little speech. Seemed determined to stay impartial. Darn. Might have to work a bit more this time. Was usually so easy. Stick in an insult about Black or his parents, and he'd be angry, and his face would go red and he'd lose control, and Snape would, for once, be glad to outlive James bloody Potter, because _he_ was the one tormenting his dear little son. Hell, he needed some joy right now.

"Well, Lestrange did certainly have an…impact on you, wouldn't you say, Potter? Sort of put a dampener on things. Poor mutt."

A flinch. Hmm. Not as much as expected, but still there. Just a little more and he could go back to having half the wizarding world hot on his heels.

"Still, now he can join your beloved parents and headmaster, in whatever afterlife they've gotten themselves stuck in. A Gryffindor haven, how… _pleasant_. So many good intentions wasted in one place, paving the road to hell. A paradise for failures, who have all died in a futile attempt to try and stop Harry bloody Potter getting himself killed with arrogant amateur heroics "

And bullseye. Potter's eyes flashed dangerously, and Snape felt a drawing in of power. The fairy on the lamp started to tinkle with the sudden cool breeze swirling about.

"_Shut. Up. _I am _trying_ to get you out of this sodding war alive, do you hear me? It hasn't been easy, stopping the rest of them hunting you down and tearing you apart, but I've been bloody _trying_! Hell, you don't even have to spend any time with me! Just keep yourself and Malfoy alive, leave the Order alone, and then when I've killed Voldemort, I can work on getting your arse out of Azkaban!"

Marvellous. So Harry Potter had somehow got it into his head that he…_deserved_ to be saved.He was now some kind of charity case, like Granger's efforts with the house elves. Maybe Potter could knit him socks, or make badges. What made him think he didn't want to be killed, or punished for his actions? He had…No. Not in front of the boy. He couldn't know. Never.

"So why, precisely, do you want to…save me, Potter? Would it make our puffed-up, cheating little celebrity feel better about his arrogant existence? Give him something to do until the Order kills the nasty bad Dark Lord?"

"No. It would save the life of someone who…did something bad, but for the best reasons. It would be what…Professor Dumbledore would have wanted"

_Don't speak his name to me, Potter! You have no idea what that trusting old fool would have wanted, boy._

Rage. How dare he? How dare he, for once in his miserable little life, be right? Memories of that face, worn down by age and pain, so close to death, calling in the promise a young Death Eater had made in his quest for worthiness. The promise that when Dumbledore died, he would die with love.

'_For you, dear boy, are capable of love. Too much, sometimes, sometimes it can only be a torment to you. And when I finally die, it will be in battle. And you will kill me. And you will both love and hate me. But you must do it, lest I die with the flames of hatred burning my soul'_

_And he had promised, then, with a shaking voice, not knowing in his young, foolish heart, that Dumbledore was right. Sometimes, in the years following his change of sides, he wondered what it would feel like, to kill with love, not hate in his heart._

Well, he knew now. It hurt. There were no delusions of mitigation in that little murder. No blinding veil of hatred. Not even a red mist, or blurring of the senses. Just those old, wise eyes, so tired and knowing, begging him to condemn himself. He had done it. And had fulfilled both promises, both oaths. Now he had nothing but Draco, and the promise of a death when his duty was done. Such a waste.

"Sir?"

He looked up. Potter was staring at him, concern in those bright green eyes. Concern? Why concern? He could understand hatred, rage, or disgust, but not concern. Not sympathy, or sorrow, or comprehension

_Please, make it stop. Please, give me your condemnation, boy. Look at me like you used to, like your damned father used to .Give me hate, curse words, give me violence, a raised fist. Don't be like him. Not like him. Please…not like him_

It was too much. The shield of numbness and indifference that had sustained him when all he needed to do was survive cracked. All of the feeling of grief, self-loathing, disgust, fear and hatred wash over him. It was too much. How could he live with these feelings? How could he live with what he had had to do?

Then he was shuddering, and tears were running down his face. Inhuman sobs wrenched themselves from his throat, and all he wanted was sweet darkness to take him away from the sorrow and those knowing green eyes. And then…someone was holding him, warm arms encircled him and a voice he knew was murmuring nonsense words of comfort. Somehow, it didn't matter any more. He was just…floating, waiting for those arms to bring him back home.


	3. Chapter 3

Hmm. This was interesting. He was in his own bed, yes, but there was a person in there with him, snuggled in his arms, like Ginny had done. But there were no curves to run his hands over. In fact, this body was all angles and bones, like a malnourished scarecrow. And there was no lioness's mane rippling like liquid fire down her pale freckled shoulders. There was an unkempt, greasy mass of black hair. Snape never did wash his…Snape? Snape! The events of last night seeped into his sleep-fogged mind. He had cried, and Harry had held him. Who else had seen the irascible man cry? Dumbledore, certainly, but anybody else? It was a privilege, in a twisted sort of way, but now, once again, Harry had seen something of Snape he shouldn't have. Once more, he had…invaded, and it felt wrong. But it had been necessary, and he would do it again if needs be.

_Snape had worn himself out sobbing, and was now simply leaning into the circle of Harry's arms, still except for the occasional shudder. Harry really had no idea what to do, so he continued to stroke his hair and hummed snatches of the half forgotten melody he sang to himself when he was in the cupboard at the Dursleys, in the dark. It was a song to keep the nightmares away, the one thing he had from his mother. For those few hours, Snape was no longer a hated teacher, he was just a person who needed to be held and stroked and told that everything was alright. _

_It was gone midnight when Harry stood up and with some difficulty manoeuvred a sleeping Snape to the bed, removed both their shoes and socks, pulled the covers over them and, with a whispered 'Nox' plunged them into the soft darkness. He held him through the nightmares, finally sleeping himself when the cool grey light of dawn peeped through the windows. _

The man in his arms began to stir, and Harry braced himself for caustic reprimands. Snape was best at his most unconscious. He merely groaned, not tensing at all. Yet. Harry remembered suddenly how much coffee the man drunk at the staff table at Hogwarts before he looked even remotely capable of thought. Looked like he would get a reprieve for the moment. He took advantage of this by keeping his arms around him until Snape got his bearings. _May as well get yelled at properly_, he thought wryly. A few more minutes, and Snape seemed to be trying to say something.

"Coffee. Lots. Now."

Clearly a master of the one word sentence, when not fully awake. _Severus Snape, Caffeine whore extraordinaire. _Harry got up and padded to the kitchen, getting out the thing he had purchased from Diagon Alley that had sustained him the most through long nights of research; 'Boggleton's Eternal Coffee Cup'. It would refill itself with strong, black coffee for an infinite number of times. Hermione disapproved, of course, saying it was bad for him, but it was, he thought, a necessary price to pay for having to save the world. Of course, he hadn't told her this, just nodded and smiled whilst preparing himself for one of her impressive Lectures.

"Here, sir. Strong coffee."

Harry was somewhat awed at the man's capacity for drinking the stuff. With little regard for flavour or temperature, he took coffee like medicine. Once he had finished the fifth cup, he looked at Harry with a dawning recognition of his situation. Knowing that a storm was brewing and wanting to be fully aware when it did, Harry pointed Snape in the direction of the bathroom, performed a quick laundering spell on his clothes, handed him a towel and shut the door on him, mentally preparing for the beration that would follow.

He ate his by now customary breakfast of one piece of chocolate cake for breakfast, a habit which, no doubt would provoke another one of Hermione's Lectures, with the air of a condemned man. When the bathroom door opened, Harry had to suppress a flinch. It was worse than with his uncle, because Snape was far more unpredictable, and…dangerous. The fear tingled down his back, as Snape moved to stand behind him. This man was not the broken, lost and vulnerable person of last night, he was a man who could reduce a room to silence with a look, a man who could deflect dark curses with a wave of his wand, second only in power to Voldemort. And the change was due to Harry, and Harry was the person who would suffer because of it. The irony made his teeth hurt. But something within him gave him the courage to stand up and turn around. Something within him allowed him to smile at Snape, without mockery, and wish him good morning. Something meant that when Harry met Snape's tunnel-like eyes, he allowed his whole mind to unfold, flooding a tumble of images through his memory.

_A fat boy jeered at him as he was shut in the cupboard…A tear trickled down an old man's cheek…a woman with black hair laughed…A pale boy scowled as his friendship was refused…a giant told him he wasn't alone…a man waved a wand over his arm…his scar hurt as if his head was going to explode…a red haired girl smiled at him, eyes fierce and proud …a werewolf howled at the moon…he watched with shame as a black haired boy was stripped of dignity…he put a stone in a boys throat…a boat carried him across the dead waters…_

He fainted, feeling as if his head had split into two.

Snape's POV

Well, that had been a thoroughly enlightening experience. Which explained the migraine, and the memories. Someone else's memories. In fact, everything Potter had ever thought or felt was now stored in Snape's mind. And he could no longer delude himself about Harry bloody Potter. He had stored onto his grievances and his petty little spites, when he could attribute Potter's actions to arrogance, or selfishness, or hunger for fame, or a sense of pride at his father being the person who bullied Snape so badly. But not now, not when he had _felt_ the brat's burning shame about what he saw in the penseive, or his embarrassment and annoyance at his fame, or his neglect at the hands of his relatives. Snape found himself delivering himself an impressive lecture, pacing up and down, gesturing furiously with his hands.

"Harry bloody Potter, attention seeking arrogant spoiled brat, eh, _Snivellus_? Brought up in the lap of luxury by doting relatives? Admired by every Gryffindor? Achieved things only with the help of others? Not a care in the world? Prepared to follow in James's footsteps? Enjoys bullying people? No. Not at all, you deluded old sot. Dumbledore bloody told you about this! Letting the mistakes of one man condemn another! When did you become that bitter? He was brought up in a cupboard, hates attention, was called a freak before he could walk, had most of the school think he was a dangerous lunatic, has the support of his friends but helps others more, has the weight of the bloody world on his shoulders, feels ashamed of his father's actions, and has been bullied more than bullying. And now, he's looking for horcruxes. So that's what Dumbledore had been looking for. Dumbledore. Why did he leave me? He made me promise, and there was nothing else I could do and now Draco's in trouble and he hates me, and I can't let him go back to Voldemort, and now Harry's fainted, and I know too much about him, I'm a danger, but what can I do? Dumbledore would know, he knew everything, up in his tower, but he didn't know about people. He didn't know so many of the little things, our quirks. He was too clever to know about being stupid, and Gods, I miss him. I'm scared. Who can protect me now?"

His words tumbled incoherently out of his mouth, his breath caught in his throat, and all of his anger was washed away, to be replaced with a gnawing, insidious despair.

He sank down on the chair, head in hands

Harry stirred. He seemed to be trying to say something. How much had he heard of that pitiful loss of self control? Snape conjured him a glass of water, which he drank. After a few tries, he managed to say "I would."

"You would what, Potter?"

Harry sat up, weakly and leaned against a chair "Protect you, if needs be. Not like Dumbledore, not yet, I'm not strong enough, but I'll do my best. If you taught me stuff…" he trailed off, hesitantly

"I don't believe 'Stuff' is on the curriculum" Severus replied dryly. Harry cracked a small smile.

"Defence spells, hexes, protective magics, tracing magics. I need the ones…that aren't taught at Hogwarts, or necessarily…" he trailed off once more

"Ones you'd show off at Ministry tea parties?" Severus supplied, allowing a small smile to slip out.

"Yeah, those ones." Harry smiled back.

No. The boy probably thought he was someone he could look after, and save. Someone vulnerable, someone who underneath it all love puppies and kittens. Gods, he might think he wouldn't be an utter bastard to him. Then the recriminations and the tears and the "_I thought you were my friend"_ and the utter nauseating crap he had had to deal with when some female or other thought that he _wasn't_ an utter bastard who derived his pleasure from tearing people to shreds, both verbally and magically. This had to be dealt with.

"Don't start thinking I'm nice, boy" he said harshly.

Harry looked surprised at this "I don't" he replied quickly, and then backtracked. "You're a sarcastic, cruel bastard who probably makes babies cry as a hobby. I'm not trying to…housetrain you or anything. I'd like to see someone try!" he added, with a grin "But I do know that you're honourable, and loyal, and you did the right thing despite what it cost you personally. And…you don't expect me to be anything other than a dunderhead. People look at me as if I'm their only hope, and I hate it, because I know I am. You have no expectations of me. I can be as terrible as I like, and you'll feel vindicated, because that's what you expect. It's refreshing. I don't want to uncover a deeply sensitive Snape who cries at Christmas films, and likes flowers. I have no illusions about that"

Liking flowers? Merlin! The only time he looked at flowers as anything other than an annoyance was when they were necessary for potions ingredients. But Potter was accurate about the rest, and it meant he could still have a stooge. He would have to insist on discipline when he was teaching the brat, but he wouldn't have to nanny him.

"So what's this about stealing from my potions stores, boy?"

A/N Of course Snape needs coffee!

I would be really grateful if people could tell me how this redraft is going, just because I haven't begged for reviews doesn't mean I don't need them. I want to know if I'm making this better or worse. 17th September, 2005


	4. Chapter 4

A/N- from now on, this fic will be episodic (We'll be looking at little scenes in the overall story) Enjoy

xxx

"Concentrate, Potter." Concentrate! He had a sodding blindfold, and that smug bastard was shooting hexes silently at him, expecting him to be able to block the damned things! He could concentrate when he could see!

"Ok, sir" ouch, that one hurt! And that one. The next one made his skin prickle. How could he block them? He knew it was possible, it had to be! Think, Potter. How does the curse feel? He concentrated entirely on sensation. There! A split second before the spell hit, there was a sort of…energy there. Now, if he could learn to…There! Blocked! Again! Dodged! Blocked! Hit! Ouch, a nasty one that time

"Complacency, Potter, will get you killed" _So will people who blindfold you and hit you with spells_ he thought mutinously.

Snape's answering chuckle told Harry that he had picked up on _that_ thought.

He had been learning, now, for two weeks. In another week, Hermione and Ron would come and live with him. Snape taught him when he could. Draco was still under lock and key, although Harry had been careful not to ask too many questions about that. He had learnt control, focus, some seriously dodgy hexes and self-healing spells. Snape was a good teacher, now that he had no foolish pupils to contend with, and had managed to let at least some of the resentment he had harboured against Harry go. There were still things he didn't discuss, and he expected absolute commitment to his lessons, but since surviving was the only thing Harry would be doing for the duration, he found he was able to dedicate time and effort to his studies. Strangely, he found his period of solitude meant he could work better, as Hermione was no longer his safety net. He had to think for himself, whereas before he had allowed others to do some of the work for him, which was one of the faults Snape was trying to cure him of. Snape seemed pleased with his progress; he hadn't called him a dunderheaded blithering idiot since the fourth day of practicing, which had to be a good thing,

Once Snape was satisfied that Harry could truly predict the direction of the spells he was throwing, he removed the blindfold.

"Right, at ease"

Harry flopped down onto the wooden floor, completely relaxed. 'At ease' was the signal of the true end of the lesson. Once, when Snape had said 'Lesson over' and Harry had let his guard down, he found himself pinned to the ceiling with snakes slithering all over him, on the receiving end of a lecture about vigilance and making stupid assumptions. The lesson had been learnt, and he certainly wouldn't be doing that again.

He had moved twice since the guest house at Godric's Hollow, and was now renting his own flat in the muggle quarter of London. It was essentially a warehouse, with a small kitchen, a long table and a Hogwarts style four poster bed. The walls were whitewashed and the ceilings were immensely high. Harry practiced Aerial Duelling there, shooting hexes at opponents on the ground. When the Light were preparing for the Final Battle, Harry would teach them this self-taught skill. He thought that Quidditch was originally developed as a means of honing aerial combat skills, but hadn't told anyone his theory. If it was accurate, the school Quidditch teams were already halfway there. He had taken to planning strategies in a notebook he had taken care to buy from a Muggle shop.

He loved this place, it was so far removed from the stifling suburban gentility of Privet Drive, and the history-steeped beauty of Hogwarts that it had no memories of either in it. He could be content here, he could learn.

"Thinking is a dangerous art, Potter. Your face contorts when you're trying it. I think we should have some lessons in enigmatic impassiveness,"

"And sneering?" Harry was bizarrely excited about this

"A bit too ambitious, at this stage. Besides, you're too pretty to sneer, Potter. It needs a certain amount of…"

"Gravitas?" Harry supplied with a grin.

Snape fixed him with a glare "And dignity." Harry attempted a sneer, but was rather put off by Snape's derisive snicker.

"Can I have swishing and billowing lessons as well?"

"That, Potter, is an innate art. Unlike your raised eyebrow." Harry blushed.

"Well, duty calls. Practise, see if you can analyse and identify spells and enchantments put on certain objects. For next time, I expect you to analyse and identify the spells placed on your Firebolt." Without a goodbye, he disapparated, leaving Harry wondering how the hell he was going to manage this particular task. This would help him immensely, he knew, but it would give him one hell of a headache.

Well, I don't know when I'm next going to get to a computer, as I'm going on holiday in Germany. I may be able to pop into a cyber café for a bit, but this is it for a while, chaps. I haven't given up, don't worry

xxxxx


	5. Chapter 5

A/N From now on, the fic will have episodic encounters between Harry and Snape, at pivotal points in the story. Once this thing is finished, I might fill in the gaps of the story, but I wasn't aiming for a coherent, through narration. There will be other characters in the fic, but it will only be from Snarry and Hape's POV. Their relationship is more relevant than the quest thingy.

"Potter?" The boy was lying there, a sword held slackly in one hand, face white and drawn and blood seeping from numerous wounds. He was alive, still, but barely. "What the hell have you been doing?"

The brat smiled wryly "Killing a snake. It was fun." Gods! The kid had actually done it! One more Horcrux gone. Whether he would survive or not was another matter, but it was one less thing to worry about

"Voldemort's going to be…annoyed somewhat" he deadpanned.

A frown crossed Potter's face "Yeah, this isn't going to go unpunished. Maybe he'll send a strongly worded letter, or kill someone I love or something. Well, now I think I'll just go to sleep, sir. This dark alleyway is just perfect. All nice and soft and cushiony. Is cushiony a word?" The boy was obviously in shock, possibly feverish.

"Potter?"

"Yes?"

"You look like shit."

"Thank you. Too kind." Snape knelt down and looked at his wounds. They were not life-threatening. There was something about them. If he had fought with Nagini, and Nagini alone, then each of those wounds was filled with poison. But there were none of the signs of poison on the wounds, and unless Potter had-

No, he couldn't have! That was sheer lunacy! Besides, the potion was too complex. He could have got Granger's help, but why would she have done that?

"Potter" he began in a soft, deadly, almost caressing voice "What potion did you take?"

The brat focussed his eyes and attempted to look innocent. It didn't work. "Potion, sir?"

Gods, was he stupid? Probably. In one smooth movement, Snape was standing, holding the boy up against the wall by his throat. Leaning forward, so their noses were almost touching, he hissed

"The potion, you idiot, that contravenes all magical influences for a day and a night. The potion, that, despite negating the venom in that snake's fangs, has also meant that you cannot be healed by magical methods. The potion, that is not commonly used because you are susceptible to _any form of muggle attack, and you are currently sitting half conscious, in the middle of a fucking alleyway!" _

Not allowing Potter to speak, Snape tossed him over his shoulder and apparated, ignoring his mumbled protests about being treated like a kid, to his house. He had a muggle medical kit there, and, if needs be, could stitch the brat up. Unfortunately, he couldn't numb the pain. It might teach the damned brat some prudence.

The living room was dark when he apparated to one of his houses. He, like Potter, was not the safest wizard in the world; he changed location regularly. Now where was Draco? He worried about the boy. He seemed to veer between fits of rage about how Snape had taken away his 'glory', and pathetic self pity and guilt. He had so far managed to keep him away from Voldemort, on the pretext that the boy was unbalanced, and would only do harm if he was allowed out of the house, but his 'master' was becoming less willing to believe him. Draco had better understand what he had to do, and what was at stake before he was fit to appear before such a dangerous creature. _Well, _he thought grimly,_ he might as well make himself useful._

"Draco? Come here, please."

Every time he saw his once handsome godson, he was shocked. The boy was no longer eating; Snape would force-feed him nourishing potions sometimes, but potions could not duplicate entirely the effects of eating regularly and well. He was emaciated, skin pale, blonde hair long and unwashed. He had had a growth spurt, so he looked like some beautiful twisted scarecrow, trousers and shirts too short, but too loose. It was nearly getting to the stage when Snape was prepared to intervene, but he knew that the boy needed to be able to trust him. It depended on which was the most important at the time, and Snape was still inclined to think that the boy trusting him was still the most important. Permanent damage was not being done to the boy. Yet.

Draco stepped out of the shadows.

"Ah, it's good to see you, Godfather mine. Welcome back to your humble abode. Been out spying again, have we? Oh no, I forgot, you have to stay with the Dark, because the Light no longer like nasty bad Snapey. Doomed by default, one could say"

So the jester was back. The bitter, self deprecating one, who would cry until he laughed. Who would speak a peculiar mix of fantasy and stark, cold truth, and leave the listener reeling if unguarded. Well, command usually worked on him, and he was not violent.

"Come and help me please." Snape kept his voice neutral, emotionless. Draco helped. He seemed unsurprised to see Harry Potter in Snape's arms, although he knew him, that much was clear. Together they put him onto a large wooden table. Carefully, Snape cleaned the wounds and burns, not allowing the anger at the foolish brat make him rough. The bleeding had slowed down, nearly stopped in some of the shallower cuts. No stitching was necessary, Potter was bandaged up, picked up and put into Snape's bed. Once it was done, Draco looked at Snape, grey eyes suddenly clear.

"Well, one of the Light likes you still. And the rest don't matter."


	6. Chapter 6

Pain. All over. Cold, so cold his blood was ice, then a heat like the sun of a thousand deserts. He had never felt like this, even in his second year, when the Basilisk had poisoned him. But he had expected this. It was necessary, this pain, because he had destroyed Nagini. He had understood the risks and still taken them. Whatever anyone said, he had done right. It didn't make the pain any better, though.

Then the spasms started, and he flailed like a madman's puppet, body arched until his spine nearly cracked. His breath wracked through his body, the pain was worse, he thought he would die, or go insane.

Then strong arms were holding him steady, and a voice he knew was calling him from far away. He had to obey that voice. He rose through the pain to the surface and lucidity once more.

"Harry. Open your eyes"

But this voice had called him Potter, or Boy, or Brat, never Harry in this voice of concern. He frowned, but opened them anyway. The room was dark, save for a candle the man was holding.

"Good. Now where does it hurt?"

He laughed. Even his hair seemed to hurt. His laugh ended in a hoarse cough. His ribs felt as if they were being sledgehammered. Then he was lifted, and hands were soothing him, encircling him. The pain didn't seem as bad then. He burrowed closer, warm, safe, and home.

"Happy Birthday, Potter"

Snape whispered, almost too quiet for Harry to hear.

He woke up still nestled in Snape's arms. It felt warm and cosy, he had a comforting scent of aniseed and sandalwood. Snape was stroking his hair gently; it felt soothing, like something a mother would do. The pain had faded to a dull ache. This was normal for the potion; it was the natural reaction of the self-healing skills he had innately and the negative qualities of the potion. It was going to be a while before he felt fully well again. He sighed. The hand paused. Harry let out a whimper. Snape chuckled but resumed his stroking. Good.

It was light now. Harry woke up to see Snape looking in an old wardrobe. He frowned, feeling disorientated.

"What day is it?" He asked, wondering how long he had slept.

"July 31st, Potter." He wished he wouldn't call him that. It reminded him of the man he had hated.

"Harry. My name is Harry. Or brat, or idiot, or dunderhead. Not Potter. When you call me Potter, you speak to a dead man." He said, firmly

"Very well then. July 31st, Dunderhead." Harry smiled.

"That's better, sir"

"Sir?" His eyebrow was raised quizzically. "I thought we were being all friendly now, boy."

"Well what else can I call you?"

Snape thought for a moment "Well, my name is Severus."

"Sevvie then" Harry suggested, with a mischievous smile

"No bloody way, brat" Snape said, affronted

"Sev then." Harry rectified, 'Sev' being the name he would most like to call him

"What's wrong with my full name?"

"Too long"

Sorry, brat, I had no idea you had a problem with long things"

"Not _all_ long things" Harry sniggered

"Merlin spare us from the seventeen year old libido" Snape said with a sigh

"I suppose I could call you Sev-Sev" Harry mused thoughtfully, remembering Ron

"If you want all your toenails removed and shoved up your nose." Snape growled, clearly not enamoured of the idea

"I live for danger" Harry replied with a smirk

"Sod it. Call me Sev, if you must" Snape said with another sigh

"Thank you, Sev" Harry simpered, earning himself another growl from Snape

"Right, brat, you have 30 minutes to make yourself presentable."

"Why?"

"A birthday party." Snape sounded disgusted.

"Will you be there?" Harry asked, hopefully

"You want me there?" Snape sounded mystified

"Of course, but don't eat all the jelly"

"Jelly?" Snape sounded confused

"Nevermind."

"I will be there if you want me"

"Please"

"Can I hex people?"

"Do you need permission?"

"True" Snape smirked

"Nothing too painful, though"

"Of course" Snape said with deceptive meekness.

"Good."

"Now get dressed. Your clothes are on the chair."

Harry turned round to look at them. Damn.

"Dress robes!"

"Yes, brat" Snape said sternly "You _will_ look smart in those robes without complaint, or I'll body-bind you and dress you as a shepherdess."

Harry shuddered, knowing full well that he would

"Fine" he huffed

"And don't pout"

"Yes, master" Harry muttered mutinously.

"Do you need help?" Snape enquired with mocking solicitousness.

"No." Harry replied, scowling

"Are you sure? Those buttons and ties can be complicated"

"I'm sure." Harry said once again, getting up rapidly and walking over to the dress robes.

It was only as he was moodily trying to get his newly washed hair, which he was growing, into some semblance of order, that he realised how well he had been manipulated.

"Damn" He scowled.


	7. Chapter 7

Hmm. Just a quick chapter or four (ahem!) before I'm off on holiday. Again. I have come to the conclusion that I don't like holidays. I haven't slept in my own bed for more than five days in a month! So I have not been writing. But here's something I've scribbled down in my notebook. So, now to put a spanner in the works for Harry and Snape. Heh heh heh…

Snape's POV, straight after chapter 11

There was a knock on his door. The brat was getting ready upstairs, and Draco was safely out of reach. The order hadn't found him, so that left-

"Bellatrix. A pleasure, as always."

The hag pushed past him and into the living room. Shit. Why was she here? What did she know? What had Pettigrew said about his forcible expulsion from Spinner's End? Snape's mind was working feverishly, guessing outcomes, solutions, while he forced himself to offer her a drink, seat her then sit down himself.

"So, my master's tool is no longer useful." She started, tunnel-like eyes gleaming with malice.

Ah. She wanted to gloat. Marvellous. He kept his face expressionless, sipping his wine. _Well, might as well lead her out_, he thought, in no mood for pleasantries like discussing the weather, or the latest torture session, or the most successful Dark hex

"Why are you here?" He asked bluntly, far from the usual delicate conversation he usually employed with the Death Eaters. Bellatrix blinked, taken aback, but recovered quickly

"To warn you," she began, her voice harsh, ugly "I've been watching you. You've started to hope. You can withstand the Cruciatus for longer. You don't walk in the shadows so often. You need to learn."

Learn what? Snape was seized by a huge, clawing dread of what was to come. Her mind had been warped by Azkaban, but sometimes, what she said seemed more like…prophecy

"You need to learn that all of those who gather under the Dark Lord's shadow are damned to all the glory of Hell, whatever they may try, whichever hero they attach themselves to, they will never be clean. We are all damned, _Snivellus. _We're going to Hell, and taking everyone with us. There is no exit, no reprieve. Even death brings more torment"

She paused. The shadows deepened. The room seemed to close in on them.

"And if your little boy-hero tries to save you, he's going down too. Just like that fool Dumbledore"

"Hell. Well, I always did feel the cold", he said, tone supercilious and bored. He walked over to the door, eager for her to be away, this corpse, this whore. He had always hated seers.

"So, who's this boy hero?" he enquired conversationally, keeping his tone light with some difficulty

"You don't know?" Scorn was evident in her voice, but her eyes were troubled. Good. He had her confused.

"Haven't the foggiest" he replied flippantly, willing her to just go.

She was angry then. She had expected him to quake in his boots, not sound bored. He wondered if the Dark Lord had sent her.

Turning to him, eyes stormy with rage, she grabbed his face and kissed him, seeming to want all her anger and passion to be moved to him. He felt…nothing. Her once striking eyes were the eyes of a corpse; her mouth to him was a gaping wound. There were softer lips for him, and brighter eyes. She broke away, panting. He sneered

"Thinking of Sirius, were we?" he taunted, relishing the animal pain that flashed across her face

"Went to Azkaban to be insane for your…dear cousin, didn't you. You love a dead man, whisper his name into the still night, breathe out-"

Slap! The blow hurt, he had to give her that. She stormed out of the house, _his_ house, leaving him reeling, agitated, angry.

He had almost allowed Harry to become too close, to spill out all his secrets and allow the boy into his heart. He had forgotten the danger, concentrating instead on some impossible quest for redemption. All he could do was fight Voldemort. When all seemed lost, he'd take them to Hell with him. There was no honour or chivalry for him. Heroism was for those who had never…But away! Those thoughts, those memories, what he had done. He could never atone, not even with all of eternity at his disposal. Bellatrix was right. His presence was dragging Harry down, tempting evil when he should be pure, and good, and hate the darkness, and-

"Sev?"

Damn. He looked up from his chair, and saw his fears come true. The brat was…beautiful. Harsh, pale, all black, green and silver, colours of serpents and darkness. His hair was tied back, the robes were plain black except for the silver embroidery at the cuffs and hem. The cloak hung about him, like the aura of power that, despite his illness, radiated from Harry almost like heat. The cloak was clasped by an old silver pin; a Phoenix and Basilisk embracing. Any traces of the spoilt Gryffindor that Snape had thought he had known were gone. He was a beacon, drawing close the vulnerable, dispossessed, tormented, shadowed, and showing them the way to fight for their freedom.

Snape was not worthy of harry. He was unworthy of love, joy, beauty, peace. Suddenly it hurt to look at him

"Well, we'd better go" he said gruffly "Your public await."

Hurt flashed briefly in his eyes.

"I can't."

"Why not?" Surely he _wanted_ to see the Order!

"I haven't the strength to Apparate. Could we…" He trailed off. Snape knew what he was going to ask. Side-along. This would be an exquisite torment

"Come close then, boy"

Harry obeyed. Snape wrapped his arms around him, taking care not to inhale the scent of his hair, and apparated, finding a perverse thrill at the Order's probable collective apoplexy at seeing them arrive like lovers. The mutt would tip him in half. Joy.

A/N Thank you to my faithful reviewer type people. When I've got more time than I have at the moment, I shall reply to you. Holidays! Ha!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 13

So many people. For the past few weeks, Sev had been his only link to the wizarding world. Now there were others, familiar wizards who wanted a saviour, who called him Harry, who looked at him with a sort of desperate hope in their eyes, who wished him 'Happy Birthday', and commented on how he had grown. They didn't confuse him with every sentence, or weave spells around him with stories of old wizards or infuriate him until he wanted to explode. He felt strangely exposed and vulnerable, as if he were raw and newborn. He had changed so much since these people had last seen him. And the man responsible for that change had left abruptly upon apparating, without a word, sparing only the time to sneer at Lupin, who was standing nearby. With a jolt, Harry realised how much he had relied on Sev to inform him, to provide him with opinions, to be his 'dark side'. He sensed that if he weren't careful, he would be forced to once more become the 'poster boy' for the Light. That would be unacceptable.

"Harry, how you've grown, dear! But you're so thin, you need to eat something. Here, have some sandwiches. I don't know what you've been feeding yourself, you boys have no sense!"

Molly Weasley. If the occasion arose, she would mother Voldemort, Harry thought, amused and touched.

"Happy Birthday, mate.' Bill. Face scarred, but still handsome. The wedding had been a beautiful occasion, and Hermione had terrified Ron by dropping hints at the reception. "_God knows what she'll be like when Fleur starts having babies" _Ron had confided in a scared whisper. Harry had only laughed at him afterwards.

He grinned, pleased to see them both

"'Arry!" Fleur cried, as he was enveloped in a flowery hug. He returned the embrace, wincing slightly at the tenderness of his wounds and ribs. She must have felt the wince; she held him at arms length, examining him closely.

"'Andsome, but injured" she pronounced with a tiny frown. Harry sighed, waiting for the questions.

"Injured?" Lupin asked sharply. He looked less shabby now; he wore the face of a man who couldn't quite believe his luck. But now, his tawny eyes were troubled. He sniffed the air

"You're bleeding. But the blood smells strange, as if-"

"Harry, dear boy!" Slughorn waddled over. Damn. "How is the research project going? Was my sample potion useful?"

"Sample?" Moody. Bugger. This was not going very well. Slughorn beamed widely

"Ah yes, a magic negation potion. Strong stuff, nasty side effects."

"Side effects?" Lupin's voice held an unfamiliar edge of anger

"Oh yes, weakness, fever, spasms, the lot. Not strictly legal, really. Takes it out of you"

"Now why would you be wantin' such a nasty potion, Potter?" Moody's eye was narrowed "Your 'research project' seems to have left you fatigued. Care to explain?"

"I killed Nagini. It was necessary." Harry said flatly. He hated having to kill a snake; the parseltongue meant that he felt an affinity, a kinship even, with snakes. Even though Nagini had _felt_ wrong, she was a snake. A snake that Voldemort had tainted through making a Horcrux. A snake that had looked at Harry with something like relief as her last breath sighed out.

"But she's deadly, her venom is-"

"Magical. So I used the potion. It worked out." Harry interrupted Arthur Weasley, knowing that they would never see why he had to do it. They simply didn't know enough. Only Sev did, really. Hermione and Ron were standing there, both looking confused and unhappy

"I thought we had agreed to do this together" Hermione said, voice trembling, although she kept her composure. Harry could see that she was trying to stay calm and not judge. _I wonder if she will still try when I've killed him_ Harry wondered, not entirely sure of the answer. Still. He owed her an explanation.

"I had to do it alone. I won't have you two kill. I have to have a death on my soul already. One more won't make a difference."

Hermione sighed, then straightened her shoulders, took a step towards Harry and poked her finger into his chest

"Harry, if you think we won't have to kill before this war is over, you're sorely mistaken. If it is what is needed, I will take lives. Over and over, if it means that the next generation can sleep safely in their beds. And don't you go saying that you've put me into danger, Harry Potter! I'm a muggleborn, I'm in danger anyway with that madman trying to run things. None of that noble self-sacrificing business please. I'd rather have done something about the situation than have a clean soul."

Harry looked down at her. Her hair stuck out in all directions, the tip of her nose was bright pink, but her eyes shone with a steady resolve and fierce determination that would have struck fear into even the most depraved Death Eater. He sighed, still wishing that things were simpler for them, and stepped away. He walked over to Lupin and regarded him evenly.

"Say it. Go on."

"It was a bloody suicide mission, Harry! You could have- anything could have happened!" Lupin grabbed his shoulders and glared into his eyes. Harry noticed that even though he was angry, he didn't use anywhere near his full strength. It was there, underneath the surface, but he kept it there, however angry he was. Harry was sorry that Lupin had to worry about him, but he couldn't help it.

"I took precautions" he began firmly, making sure that he maintained eye contact "I made sure that once I had killed Nagini, I would be in the safest hands possible. I used Gryffindor's sword, for power. I had been training exhaustively for this. I ensured that I would not be interrupted. _It had to be done!_ I did what was necessary, with the maximum amount of precaution. Remus, I've grown up. I've had to. And believe me, I won't throw away this war on some death-or-glory suicide mission. I owe you all too much to do that" He willed Remus to believe him, to trust in him. Their eyes locked for a few seconds, then he was enveloped in a fierce embrace. He sighed, relieved that he was trusted. Whatever happened, the last of the marauders wouldn't feel that his friend's son was throwing his life away. Now all he had to worry about was Sev.

Well, another day, another chapter. I always thought requests for reviews were a little…well, pathetic, before I started writing this. Now I realise that while I would still write this fic, even if no one read it, it does make my writing one hell of a lot easier if people review. Even if it is to say if they find a character believable, or a particular line funny. Hell, criticise if you want, so long as it is constructive (and not just random insults of my appearance/dress sense/ancestry!) Just say something about it, pleeeease! I'm not going to say I'll stop if you don't, or deliberately kill them all off and make Snape a pot smoking cross dresser called Sandra (another fic, perhaps!), but it would be nice. Thanks xxx


	9. Chapter 9

Right, LyonsRoar. I have informed readers. It says 'nearly snapeharry' on my summary. And, speaking as someone who should know, what with me having written the darn thing, Harry and Snape are going to teeter dangerously on the brink of falling in love. It is intrinsic to the story. I am doing my level best to ensure that it comes about in as plausible a way as possible. My profuse apologies if I have failed. There will be no graphic action. The most intense stuff you're going to get is kissing. There is nothing wrong with two human beings falling in love, regardless of gender. Would you have a problem if it was Harry and Ginny in this situation? I have put up enough warnings about this story. Hell, I've put stuff in my profile about it. And, strangely, sex and love are a rather important part of most of the stories that deal with Harry Potter at the age he is canonically. He's seventeen. Looking at _linoleum_ makes him want to have sex (a cookie for anyone who gets where that quote is from) Ignoring that means that a good deal of his development is ignored. And it's bypass, not bi-pass.

Ahem. Right, on with the story

It had been three weeks. Three weeks since he had last seen Sev. His letters returned, undelivered, unopened, his discreet enquiries met with only baffled looks and shaken heads. Hell, he was on the verge of bribing Fletcher for information. Now, he was sleeping, not in his bed, but in a high-backed leather chair facing the fire. Dim light came from the standard lamp, throwing his face into shadows. Restless dreams troubled him, and he stirred occasionally, a frown appearing between his eyes

The man standing in front of him looked at his sleeping form for a minute. To him, it seemed strange that such a fragile looking boy could be responsible for so many of his troubles. Briefly, he contemplated ending him now. The rewards would be great, and his master…wasn't his master any more. He smiled. Well, perhaps another time. When the moment was opportune. Or perhaps never. Whichever was more profitable. At the moment, the most profitable thing to do was to waken the boy. He drew out his cane, put the tip to the sleeper's throat, and whispered "Mr. Potter, I have a proposition for you. I trust you will not try anything…imprudent."

Well, as an alarm clock, Lucius Malfoy was certainly persuasive. None of those beeps or buzzes or rings for him. Just a good old-fashioned steady pressure to the windpipe. Harry nodded, once. The cane was removed. Not wanting Malfoy to dictate the terms of the meeting entirely, Harry used his right hand to almost negligently bring a sofa forward, thanking Dumbledore all the time. Malfoy fell back into a sitting position.

"Have a seat" Harry said solicitously. Malfoy scowled slightly

"Well, boy, your manners just keep improving" he remarked in a tone of heavy sarcasm.

Harry inclined his head graciously to the compliment, mind working furiously _a proposition. And it's somehow connected to Sev. I know it. And the wards let him in, so he must have-_

"So, tell me, why are you on the run from Voldemort?" Harry asked casually. Any surprise Malfoy felt at Harry's knowledge was quickly concealed, as he sat back, steepling his hands. His eyes narrowed

"A minor disagreement" he replied lightly, but Harry could sense the simmering undercurrents of rage in the man's bearing.

"And how would this…spat have any bearing on your proposition?" Harry pressed, careful not to anger Malfoy, enjoying this game they were playing.

"You get my son and Snape out of Azkaban, I give you Black." Harry blinked. This was too much information to take in at once. Sev in Azkaban? Sirius not dead? He blinked once more.

"Explain." He commanded, voice hoarse. Malfoy's words came out in an angry rush.

"The Dark Lord would appear to have had reasons for doubting my son and Snape's loyalty. He saw fit to torture them, and then hand them over to the Ministry as Death Eaters. My own son, a Malfoy, not fit to kill! Sent to Azkaban like a common criminal, tortured, beaten. He didn't even deem him important enough to kill himself. He's a half-breed, not fit to lick my son's boots, and yet he wouldn't even kill him!"

"But surely you'd have rejected Voldemort anyway, had he done that." Harry said, wondering if the generations of diligent inbreeding had warped Malfoy's mind

"Of course! He's my son! It's…the principle of the thing, though"

Harry couldn't help it. He started to laugh. Of all the reasons to switch sides, this had to be the most perverse one. He was rejecting a group of pureblood supremacists, for reasons of racial purity, to join with a side that were pledged to protect the Muggles.

"And Sirius? He's dead. He has to be. No one told me that he was alive."

"That, boy, would be because they didn't know." Lucius said with a hint of smugness.

Had Sev known? Would he have said? Harry wished once more that the Marauders had at least tried with Sev, but then he remembered how he had acted towards Draco. If he had been a better person, maybe- But no. Dwelling on the past didn't help.

"So who knew? All of the Death Eaters?"

"No, of course not. " Lucius seemed patronisingly amused with the idea "Only the Inner Circle, with the exclusion of Severus and Bellatrix" his lip curled in a snarl at the mention of that name. Harry wondered what she had had to do with the situation "because certain…old tension might have meant that they were tempted to…deviate from the original plan"

"Which was?"

"To release him if the final battle didn't go The Dark Lord's way. The threat of the death of someone you are…attatched to would make you lose your concentration, because you would have no way of knowing if it was real or not."

"So the battle in the Ministry wasn't for the prophecy?" Harry asked, feeling vaguely ill

"It was for the prophecy as well, boy. But The Dark Lord has never done something for only one reason. He's always looking out for how he can turn a situation to his own advantage. He was always like that." Malfoy's expression had gone distant; his eyes were troubled as he spoke, but also contained something like affection for Voldemort.

Harry put his head in his hands. How the hell was he ever going to defeat someone so cunning? He let out a muffled groan, then raised his head.

"Fine. We free Malfoy and Se- Snape, then get Sirius out." Harry said decisively.

Malfoy looked surprised. "I'd have thought that you would want the mutt, I mean your godfather out first" he said, scrutinizing Harry's face

"When Sirius is released, Voldemort will know who did it" Harry explained "His retribution will fall on your son and Snape. We need them safe first."

"You know, Draco always said you were an idiot." Lucius said lightly "But you're quite intelligent. For a halfblood."

"Thanks."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I though I might pay the Minister a little visit."

"At two in the morning? That's hardly civilised."

"That hasn't stopped you."

"Who said I was civilised?"

"Well, you'd better hide."

"Hide?" Malfoy raised an elegant blond eyebrow. _It must be a Slytherin talent_ Harry thought wryly

"I have guests."

"How charming. Very well, I'll hide."

"And you don't hurt them. Allow them to put ropes on you if necessary, but don't attack. Clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good."

As he left for the Ministry, he wondered just how much Malfoy could be trusted. Still, it was in his best interests to co-operate. At the moment.


	10. Chapter 10

"_Oh, my boy. My poor lost boy. I'm so sorry you had to go through this. I promise you, you'll never have to go to Azkaban again" _

_The older man had looked at him with tears shining in his wise old eyes as he gently cleaned the cuts and scrapes he had accumulated through his brief but tormented stay there. _

"Well, that's one promise down, Dumbledore" Snape said bitterly, gazing at the far wall of his tiny cell. He was back in dear old Azkaban, and despite the absence of the Dementors, despair seemed to seep out of the very pores of the miserable institution. The boy who was dozing fitfully next to him stirred. For some reason, the Aurors had allowed them to stay in the same cell. He was glad. At least the lack of human contact wouldn't drive him mad. The ceaseless dripping of water, the wails and moans, the rattling of chains and the fact that he was so bloody powerless could do that.

He shifted restlessly, wincing as his bruised ribs protested at the movement. The Ministry officials had been far from kind to the prisoners. He would have gone without a fight; he should have been sent to Azkaban months ago, but Draco had protested forcefully, and Snape had ended up shielding the younger boy from the unnecessary number of curses that were fired at them by the Aurors. _See? Heroism hurts your ribs!_ A small voice in the corner of Snape's mind said. He scowled once more, absently rubbing at his bloody knuckles.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Sev." Draco said once more. He had apologised repeatedly to him; something which was unheard of prior to his exile. He had started to take responsibility for his own actions, and was developing into a good person. Snape sighed.

"These injuries would have happened anyway. Many of the Aurors deserve to be locked up far more than those they imprison." Snape replied, his tone gentle "I don't blame you, lad."

Draco seemed slightly appeased. Then he sighed and manoeuvred himself so his knees were up to his chest and hugged them, for warmth, and, perhaps, comfort.

"Uncle Sev?"

"Yes?"

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

Draco turned his face to Snape, disbelieving

"But you never get scared! You're not a coward!"

Snape smiled wryly

"It's not being scared that makes a coward. It's whether you let the fear rule your actions. And I am scared."

"We'll get free. I know it." Draco said, with the robust confidence of one who was seldom disappointed. Snape said nothing.

"We will get free. Someone will free us." Draco repeated stubbornly

"Who? Who knows? Who cares that two 'Death Eaters' are in prison?" Snape said wearily, having worked this through many times. If it were just himself he had to worry about, he'd have just allowed himself to slide into oblivion, but he had Draco to worry about. He had come so far! He had accepted what he had done, and the peculiar…imbalance he had previously suffered was gone. Now, it was all wasted. He didn't even have the bloody mark!

"But we should have a public trial! People should know! If Potter-" Draco stopped, knowing that, for some reason Snape didn't want his name mentioned. But the name had already sent a jolt to his heart. Potter should not know. He'd want him free, and then he wouldn't be punished any more.

"Scrimgeour is as bad as Crouch! No trials, all this cloak and dagger stuff, I'd be surprised if Voldemort _wasn't _paying them!"

Well well. Lucius Malfoy's son and heir speaking out against corruption. If he'd been told this would happen, he'd have laughed. Then hexed the person who said it for spouting such asinine absurdities.

"Draco, hush. Save your energy. Be calm and discreet. Anger serves nothing. Wait. Plan. Be circumspect. I'm going to do my best to get you out of this, lad. But you need your strength. Try and sleep."

"I can't" Draco whispered in a tormented voice. "Every time I close my eyes, I see the tower, and- and _him. _How could I have-"

"No. This place. It drags every feeling you've suppressed to the surface. You'll go mad, if you let it. You need to distract yourself."

"How?"

"We could play 'I spy'." Snape said, a hysterical laugh threatening to escape him. This could only be made worse by the sudden appearance of Longbottom! The thought sobered him up.

"Tell me a story. A happy one. Please."

Snape searched in his mind for a happy story. It was hard. He remembered a Muggle storybook he had had as a child, that he had treasured above all things. He would stroke the pictures lovingly, and read every word until he knew it off by heart. He began, in a soft, gentle voice, the words coming back to him as if from a dream

"Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant's garden.  
It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit"

Tears ran down his face as he finished the story. There was a weight in his arms. He looked down, vision blurry. Draco was asleep, silvery tracks running down his pale face. In his slumber, he shivered slightly. Snape drew him closer, protecting him from the cold and the night.

A/N The story is The Selfish Giant, by Oscar Wilde. If you haven't read it already, do it now!

I've just read my previous A/N. I think I might be turning into Snape. Heh heh heh…


	11. Chapter 11

_How_ Hermione had managed to hack into the Floo network, Harry didn't know. He was just glad she had, as he stepped into the Minister's private Chambers, unchallenged, exiting for the first time ever with a modicum of grace. He was rather going to enjoy this.

Scrimgeour was still sat at his desk. His hair was even more white streaked than before, and he looked as if he needed a long sleep. They all did, but the Minister was under so much strain, with the leaking information and the attacks. He was probably looking forward to all-out war; at least then there wouldn't be so many random and inexplicable killings. Voldemort seemed to be intent upon mocking and unsettling the Ministry. Still; imprisonment without trial had taken his Godfather away from him. Crouch and his heavy-handed methods had fuelled general disaffection, until now Harry felt as if he was fighting the Ministry, instead of collaborating. That could change; but only if this meeting went well. And Harry fully intended that it should.

Scrimgeour did not appear too surprised to see him.

"Ah, Minister. I have been informed of a somewhat disturbing development" Harry said, eager to avoid the usual inane chatter about the weather and each other's health. Besides, Scrimgeour was probably trying frantically to guess why on earth he was here. "I wonder how the public would react if they knew you were disposing of Voldemort's unwanted prisoners."

Scrimgeour blinked.

"Have a biscuit" he said, offering Harry a plate. Harry took two, then fixed him with a piercing stare.

"Please don't attempt evasion, Minister. I'm sure you have better things to do than attempt to hoodwink or divert me."

"The suspects were arrested due to a valid tip-off-"

"Which, of course, explains the lack of publicity about the arrest of two of the most dangerous enemies of, oh, wait, Voldemort" Harry interjected, honey-laced sarcasm in his tone.

"We received no information about that" Scrimgeour said stiffly

"Well, the whole point of a spy is that no one-"

"I know that!" Scrimgeour interrupted, annoyed "But we receive so little information about what you lot are doing!"

"Because half of the ministry are spies. The information would drop straight onto Voldemort's lap."

"A third, actually" Scrimgeour corrected with a smug smile

"Half. One sixth of the Ministry are my spies"

The smile went.

Slughorn was an excellent spymaster, and he relished being paid handsomely for what came naturally; the collection of information and the garnering of influence. His weekly meetings were peppered with shameless name-dropping, but Harry appreciated the acuteness of his mind. It was a spider's eye view.

"Spies on spies." Scrimgeour's tone was frosty, his smile twisted.

"Our spies are to misinform Voldemort's spies actually. They are there for your protection. We are now in a position to…dispose of Voldemort's spies. We have a list of names. I would suggest you move them all to the Unspeakables unit."

"But they would learn so much! It's absurd!"

"Not if you were to create a…false one. Who would be able to correct them in their impression?"

"Interesting…It would solve many of our current problems" Scrimgeour mused. "You expect your spies back in return for this information?"

"Yes." Harry said firmly.

Scrimgeour sighed. "Can I expect any more co-operation from you?" he asked quietly

"Not public. My operations are too delicate for that. But eradication of Voldemort's influence from your government will be met with greater information from us. And of course, preparations for the Final Battle will have to be made together. But this secrecy and lies will have to stop, and soon."

He nodded, expression unreadable. "You do realise that lies and secrecy are the foundations of a secure government. Misinformation is our watchword. It keeps people quiet and calm" He said, sounding cynical and tired.

"You now need an honest government. It would have prevented a great deal of this mess. You may not object to routine dishonesty, but I do." Harry replied firmly

"You've grown up, Mr. Potter. Another few years, and your illusions about lies and the truth will be stripped. Until then, enjoy your idealism. A coach will take you to Azkaban. You may have your prisoners."

"Ah, Azkaban" Harry said in a tone of mock nostalgia "If the…residents aren't criminally insane at the start of their sentence, it's pretty certain they will be by the end, guilty _or_ innocent. I hope for your sake that any damage caused is not permanent. Or I might just leave you to Voldemort's tender mercies."

Scrimgeour nodded, once, and smiled thinly. Once upon a time, he would have assumed that the Boy who lived would have never even considered the idea. But there was a streak of ruthlessness that he had not previously encountered in the boy. This would require re-evaluation. It was going to be a long night.

Thanks to the books of the amazing David Eddings, especially for the character of Silk and the political machinations. Also thanks to Yes Minister and Yes Prime Minister, for removing any pleasant illusions I once had about the honesty of those in power, and being so wonderfully scripted.


	12. Chapter 12

If I needed Rain

Just gone dawn and sleep escapes me,

I crossed this world to be here again,

A million miles, a different story,

Could have stayed home if I needed rain.

I need the heat of the Texas highway,

To stop this chill that's on my bones.

It's deep as time and cold as cocaine,

Weighs down my heart like a frozen stone.

Not a day goes by I don't feel worried

For all the loves I've left behind.

There's an aching hole inside my memory,

A missing piece I've yet to find.

Love's a curse, it's a sleeping siren,

Turns a poor boy's life around.

Takes you high as a bluegrass fiddle,

Leaves you crawling when it lets you down.

Just gone dawn and sleep escapes me,

I crossed this world to be here again,

A million miles, a different story,

Could have stayed home if I needed rain.

He scratched another notch on the wall. He needed to, to keep track of the days; otherwise they would meld into one continuous nightmare of remorse. He closed his eyes to be met with accusing glares. His silence was filled with terrified screams. Memories of every hurt, every wrong, every harsh word he had ever said echoed in the recesses of his mind.

Draco was ill. He had a cough that wouldn't seem to shift. He was losing weight until he looked once more like the straw-haired scarecrow he had been. His eyes were haunted, hollow, and when he slept he would whimper, tears running down his cheeks. Snape worried, but he was too tired for anger. All that was left within him was grey, frozen.

"Another story, please"

Draco's voice was hoarse from coughing. He no longer asked for happy ones. Just a story. Something to hear. Something that wasn't cold and dark and hopeless. Snape couldn't have conjured a happy story anymore. He had forgotten what flowers and ribbons looked like. Sunshine seemed like a fever dream. The nights and days were the same here, the storms that lashed the rocks on which the fortress was perched blocked out the sun.

"I have no more stories." He said sadly. "They've all been taken. I'm sorry."

"I'll make you some new ones"

Snape looked up to the door of a cell. A youth was standing there in a cloak, face shadowed by his hood. He was tall and slender. He carried a lamp. Snape thought he could feel the warmth from where he sat. He also carried a set of keys.

"Are you real?" Snape asked, wondering if his imaginary figure would even admit to not being real.

He didn't answer. Instead, he unlocked the door and stepped in. He removed his cloak. Strange, his mind was concocting something that looked like

"Potter." Draco croaked. Harry's face set itself into grim lines as he looked at the boy

"I was helpless like that once, Malfoy. You stamped on my face. It was for your father, you said. Well, this is for your father as well." Harry drew something out of his pocket. It was a wand. He handed it to Draco. He also handed Snape's wand to him. He waved his own wand, and their prison-issue rags were gone, replaced with warm, clean robes and cloaks.

"Can you walk?"

Draco shook his head. Snape said nothing. Harry, noting this, sighed and picked Draco up, holding him to his chest. Snape got up, every muscle in his body protesting bitterly. He attempted a step. He swayed. Harry sighed again, and walked over to him

"Lean on me."

Wordlessly, Snape leaned. Together, they made their way slowly to the black Ministry carriage.

When they were sat safely, Harry clenched his fists. His eyes were ice.

"I am going to pull that fucking place down. Stone by stone."

Snape believed it. Draco grinned, the first time he had smiled in days.

"Mind if I join you?" He offered his hand. Harry smiled back and took it.

"Sev? Do you want to help? I'd hate to leave you out of the fun." Harry asked, humour mixed with expectation in his eyes. Snape looked at him for a long moment, then slowly nodded his head.

Snape looked out of the window. The dawn had begun, soft and hesitant, sending a pink blush across the sky. It felt like the first dawn Snape had ever seen. He watched as the sun began to rise, its pale fingers of light touching hills and trees and fields. It caressed his face, making the tears shine against his cheeks. The joy he felt at the beauty of morning mixed with his unutterable sadness, twisting at his heart until he felt as if it were breaking. But there was hope there too. Hope was a luxury he should never have again. He turned from the light and the dawn, closing the curtain.

"What is it, Sev? Why does the dawn bring you so much sadness?"

"Its beauty was not made for me." Snape didn't look at Harry. He didn't want to see his eyes, or the concern that was reflected in his voice.

"Its beauty was not made for anyone. It exists, there for anyone to see. Nature doesn't care if good or evil look on its beauty."

"I don't deserve it."

"Why not?"

Fool of a Gryffindor! Why the hell did he think he didn't deserve it? Had he developed amnesia? Were his mental faculties addled from too many bludger hits?

"Because in case it hadn't escaped your notice, I killed people for an evil lunatic. I tortured. I brewed the most terrible potions. I-"

"repented, became a spy, under thankless conditions, I might add, helped me more than anyone else could have, and, until recently tried to redeem himself through doing more for the side of Light than those who are publicly working for it. I ask you again. What happened?" Harry's tone was still gentle. Why was he being so kind? Why bother?

"I was made aware that, ultimately, my attempts were hopeless and self indulgent."

"By whom?"

Snape didn't answer, developing a sudden intense interest in the floor of the carriage.

"Bellatrix?"

He flinched at the sound of her name, her words echoing in his mind as if branded on his very soul. He said nothing.

"You believe that lunatic?" Harry sounded incredulous

"She was right."

"So you're giving up? You're letting them win? After every Crucio you've suffered, every time you've had to play toady to those scumbags, those dunderheads, every time you've had to torture, to pretend to enjoy it, every-"

"time I've killed? Yes. I give up. I might as well take the path of least resistance to death and slide merrily into the pits of Hell. I surrender. They win."

"But why?"

"Because I deserve to be punished! And if you won't do it, then I'll do it myself."

"What makes you think I won't?"

Snape blinked, surprised that he would even suggest it. He responded to the challenge in Harry's voice

"Name your punishment then."

"Your punishment is that you help me. Guide me through until the Final Battle is over. Be my friend. Be my partner. Help me when I am weary, comfort me when I weep, and accept that I will do the same for you. Do you accept the terms of your punishment?"

Punishment. It would be a hard road to follow.

"_You see, dear boy, you have a choice. You can endure pain, danger, ridicule and torment, but help us to win, or you can continue along the path you are on, with accolades, power and prestige. What do you choose? Do you accept the role of spy?"_

"I accept." Both Snapes answered as one. Both knew what would follow. But on that road, there was hope. Hope, love and redemption.

The song at the top is by a group called Plainsong. The song is one of the most beautiful songs I know, for its weariness. It describes almost perfectly the feeling of being drained, weary and far from home. I wish I had written it, but, alas, I didn't.

Also, the fool of a Gryffindor comes from Lord of the rings. Bless Gandalf and his prosthetic nose. May his hat forever remain pointy.

Kimkirk- yup, it was Xander in Buffy. Have a cookie xxx


	13. Chapter 13

18

Well, school has re-started. Wahoo. The joy of my heart knoweth no bounds and my cup of happiness threateneth to spill over. Which means that I do not have enough time to update every day. I wish I could do nothing but write (hopefully I will one day) but that is not possible. Instead, I have to do A-levels. Which means that updates will be weekly, hopefully more, but probably not. And the rain has started once more. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Even if I don't manage to bring this story to a satisfying conclusion, it will have been worth it, because I can look at every annoying person or bully I will encounter in the coming year, and think 'Some people read what I write. Could you ever say that?' It's something to hold in my heart and take out and look at when I need to. Darn this has turned into a morose a/n. I shall have to try and make the chapter more cheerful. I blame the coffee wearing off.

Llassah

Xxx

Well, they were safe. Both of them. Harry sat back in the chair, watching Molly Weasley and Madam Pomfrey tend to the two men. Both women were muttering about the two wizards' condition, while at the same time healing them swiftly and without fuss. Molly was there because Ron had found Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and, to his eternal credit, had been willing to allow them to explain themselves. He had then wisely sent an owl to his mother, telling her to bring medical supplies, anticipating the state in which Draco and Sev would arrive. Arthur had often been heard to condemn the treatment prisoners received in Azkaban, and this case was, sadly, no exception. Now, Harry was tired, but unwilling to go to sleep until he was sure Sev was alright. Lucius and Narcissa looked in a similar state.

Narcissa, who Harry had only seen looking like an ice queen, now looked careworn and tired. She was somehow more beautiful, more human, for this. She was currently leaning back into the circle of her husband's arms. Both had dark shadows under their eyes; both were looking at their sleeping son with a mixture of love and sorrow. Harry could tell by the expression on Lucius's face, by the set of his mouth and a spark deep in those silvery eyes that someone was going to _pay _for this. He was glad that Lucius was on their side, at least for as long as it suited him. The man was dangerous; both for his scheming and manipulation and for his almost insane ferocity when cornered. But it was interesting to see that he was capable of love and, by the way he gently stroked his wife's hair, tenderness.

His eyes met Harry's, and he smiled slightly.

"Thank you. No one else could have done what you have. I shall fulfil my side of our agreement when we have had some sleep. Things may…complicate, somewhat."

Now it was Harry's turn to give Lucius a lopsided smile.

"But think how much more interesting it makes life." He said with mock brightness.

Lucius shuddered. "Spare me the Gryffindor optimism. It's too late in the day, no, early, for that sort of behaviour."

"Gods, don't remind me", Harry groaned massaging his forehead.

"Is it your scar, Harry?" Ron asked, concerned, having watched the exchange with some amusement.

"No. He's been quiet, strangely. It's the combination of an early morning and dealing with Scrimgeour. Also, the lack of coffee."

"You're turning into Severus" Lucius remarked with a smirk

Sev. Until he had seen him on the floor of the cell in Azkaban, wounded, weary and sick, Harry had not realised how much he cared about the irascible man. It was beyond friendship. It was nothing as trivial as a crush. It was not the lust or playfulness he had enjoyed with Ginny. This was terrifying, immense, like lightning, like a force, a momentum. It was like being punched in the stomach every time he saw him. He would lay down his life without compunction; he would give up everything to be with him, even his magic. If Voldemort even suspected…Harry shied away from the thought. He would prevent that, even if it meant never telling Sev how he felt. He had to. Even if all he wanted to do was sing out his joy to the stars.

"Harry, dear, you need sleep. You won't do any good here hovering. You're dead on your feet!"

Somehow Harry couldn't quite argue with Molly. He hadn't the energy. He stood up, grabbed his cloak and lay down on the floor at the foot of the transfigured bed on which Sev was sleeping, covering himself up.

Molly sighed. "I meant in a _bed_!"

Harry ignored her. He wanted to protect Sev, now he had found him again. And the floor wasn't that uncomfortable. He smiled, and went to sleep. His last thought was _Tomorrow we can go and get Sirius back._ As he slept, he dreamed he was hunting in a moonlit sky, accompanied by a wolf and a stag.

"Accio Sirius Black." So simple. The summoning spell. The veil fluttered, and a jet of white light shot out. The volume of the whispers increased to an unbearable level, until all was light and sound, and Harry couldn't even think to scream. His knees gave out, his head threatened to split into two. Then all was quiet. The light went. The sounds died down. Hesitantly Harry opened his eyes. There, standing in front of him was a tall handsome man with long black hair and silver eyes.

Harry feared it was a trick, a joke. Soon Voldemort would come, and he would see the last of his dreams crumble to dust. He would die, and the taste of the defeat would be bitter on his lips. He stood up shakily. The man was three steps away. Now two steps. One step. The last step was taken by the man who looked like his godfather, and they were embracing, sobbing out incoherent apologies and murmured half expressions of love, in a room where both of their worlds had collapsed. Harry knew now that it was Sirius. _Dumbledore would be so happy_ he thought, and tears of sadness mingled with the joy. He began to shake.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"Dumbledore's dead, and I don't know what to do, and I thought you were dead, and the last year's been so scary, and I don't know if we can win, and there's no one to tell me what to do! No one!"

"I know, Harry. Hush now." Sirius began to rub Harry's back calmingly as his sobs subsided. When his breathing had recovered enough, he asked

"How could you know?"

"I could see most things, Harry. I followed you, mostly. It was like being an invisible soundless ghost. I wanted to protect you, even though I couldn't be there. I drifted, undetected, as I pleased really. I saw what happened up at the tower. I saw what you did after that."

Harry tensed. What would Sirius have to say about Sev? Would he be angry?

"You don't half choose a peculiar person to fall in love with" he said, amusement in his voice.

"You- you don't mind?" Harry stammered, baffled

"No. I was with you, remember? I saw what you have been through together, and I've seen how much you care for each other. And I think that will be the thing that wins this war for you, one way or another. I've had to grow up Harry. Our side cannot win when our eyes are clouded with petty grievances. My fight with Snape has nearly gotten us killed too many times." His eyes were serious, sincere.

Harry smiled at him.

"Thank you." He said quietly

"What for?"

"Being alive after all."

"My pleasure."


	14. Chapter 14

I know, I said once a week, but I lied. Mwa ha ha. This is a little chapter. Please tell me if it's realistic or not

xxx

Sev's POV

Well, he was no longer on a stone cold floor. That was good. Very good. But where was he? A bed, obviously. His bed? No, his was lumpier that this. He opened one eye slightly. Well, the ceiling was white. How wonderfully illuminating. Now, how many ceilings in this world were white? A thousand? A million? More than that. He closed the eye once again, deciding to bide his time.

"I know you're awake" Damn. Then it all rushed back to him. He was in Harry's bed, in Harry's room. But the voice didn't belong here. The voice belonged deep in his adolescent nightmares.

"Black. Didn't they tell you you're supposed to be dead?"

Black chuckled

"How do you know I'm not?" he asked, his voice filled with the teasing he remembered from Hogwarts. But it was not so…malicious, somehow. It had a certain quality, one of almost affection.

"What are you?" he asked, fearing he was losing his mind, or dead without having noticed. _That's right, I woke up one morning dead_ he thought with the sort of humour that comes from expecting, and often getting, the very worst from life.

There was a pause, while the voice seemed to consider this.

"I'm your conscience" he announced, sounding unhealthily happy with this prognosis. Snape opened his eyes, sitting bolt upright. The morning was _not_ the decent time to spring that sort of information on someone. _If _it were true.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Of course, Black answered a question with a question.

"How do you know I'm lying?" He certainly looked like Black, clean shaven, irritating as ever, but he did not look like he had when Snape had last seen him. That Black was a worn out husk of a man, haunted by past mistakes, trapped in a home which had caused him so much anguish. A man who would undertake a suicide mission just so he could get out of Grimmauld place. This Black looked…peaceful, contented, more like the man he would have been had he not been sent to Azkaban. Snape remembered the envy with which he had regarded the ease of conversation and confidence Black had. That had been assuaged by the obvious misery of the man he had encountered previously. The misery that Snape had consciously contributed to, because he _hated _the damn man so much. The arrogant pureblood who had everything, and yet wanted more; wanted a young Snape to suffer, to be bullied, ridiculed, alone. And when he had died an unnecessary death, Snape had been half triumphant, half sorry that it had happened. He had wanted to be able to see Black slowly descend into madness, to become pitied and feared. But he'd died by _tripping, _for Merlin's sake. And now he was back, somehow, to haunt him.

"Prove it" he said firmly (he was damned if he was going to let himself be haunted by a fake!)

"How, pray?" Black asked, raising an eyebrow. He looked mildly interested, as if they were only discussing the weather.

Snape searched in his mind for the most bizarre piece of information he could ask for

"What colour are Bellatrix Lestrange's knickers?"

"She never wears any" he answered without missing a beat.

"Really?" Snape asked, eyes wide. "I had assumed that was just a rumour."

"Alas, no." Black said solemnly. Both men shuddered.

"So do you believe me?" Black asked

"Not a bit." Snape answered firmly. Black pulled an expression of mock hurt.

"No one ever does" he said, in a miserable voice that jarred somewhat with the expression on his face. Snape raised an eyebrow at him

"I wonder why" he said to the room in general.

"So, you're not a ghost, you're definitely not my conscience, what exactly are you? And why haven't the rude comments and the attempts at revenge started coming yet?"

"Don't feel like it" Black responded with the air of a rebellious toddler. He walked over to Harry's dressing table and looked in the mirror

"So I do have a reflection" he mused, thoughtfully. For many moments, Black stood in front of the mirror, looking at his face, tracing the outline of the features shown in the mirror.

"What were you before, then?" Snape asked, softly, not wanting to interrupt his reverie. Their eyes met in the glass.

"I was a spirit, a wisp, a mere thought, substanceless, invisible, unable to make sound, undetectable. I drifted. Saw. Could not influence. I had nothing to tell myself I was real, no sensation, and no one else's acknowledgement. I was powerless, and it horrified me." His smile was wry and twisted "And the only reason I escaped was because Lucius Sodding Malfoy had an attack of spite and decided to piss Voldemort off."

"Join the club" Snape said, returning the smile. "In fact, our roles are amusingly reversed now. I am the fugitive, you are free to roam. I am wanted by both the Ministry and the Dark Lord. All you need is a job, and your revenge would be complete"

Black let out a short bark of laughter. "Tempting" he mused thoughtfully "But we are on the same side now, and we both want what's best for Harry. So I suppose a truce is in order. I'm too aged for such arguments" he said with a grin. "So, here's a new start. My name is Sirius Orion Black. I'm pleased to meet you" He bowed gracefully, sweeping off an imaginary hat, and then held out a hand to shake. Wondering if this was all some dream his admittedly twisted imagination had cooked up, Snape took the hand. Their eyes met, and Snape could cross one more enemy off his list. It didn't feel too bad, really.

"So, how do you know about Bellatrix's underwear?" he asked conversationally, half fearing an answer.

"Sirius? What do you know about Bellatrix's underwear?"

Harry sounded alarmed. He was leaning against the doorframe, a steaming mug in his hand. "Oh, and I brought you some coffee Sev"

Harry handed over the coffee, which Snape took gratefully, then turned his eyes to Black, who was blushing like a schoolboy.

"I, erm, walked into the wrong room at a New Year's party. Her and Rodolphus were, well, you know, and…" he trailed off, face scarlet.

"Ah yes, the legendary Black New Year parties" Snape said in a reminiscent voice, wanting to prolong the spectacle of the unflappable Sirius Black blushing "Didn't you and Narcissa nearly"

"It was dark, and we were drunk!" Black protested

"And when you returned to school after the holidays, she slapped you across the face, in the Great Hall"

All three turned round. Lupin had joined in, an expression of unholy glee on his face. Black sunk his face into his hands with a groan. Snape almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"So who's here now? And where's Draco? He was really ill"

"You slept for three days, Sev" Harry said gently "The Order met here yesterday, to hear about Sirius, and Remus and Tonks stayed. And Draco is with his parents, folding Malfoy Manor, whatever that means"

"It's a tradition in old Wizarding families, for their homes to be collapsible at a moments notice. It's useful in times of war, and for ease of transportation. It was fashionable during the Witch Hunts" Black explained. He grinned slightly "They can be reduced to either a miniature house or a pendant, and can be reopened by the owner of the house. They can be lost. My great great great grandfather lost the ancestral home during one of the Goblin Rebellions. Mother used to get so mad about it when she talked about it. It was always fun to mention his name, and time how long she would rant. Regulus and I used to have a competition."

"But Draco is recovered?" Snape was concerned for his mental state more than anything.

"He's getting there. You managed to keep him occupied; Madam Pomfrey said that saved him."

Snape sank back onto his cushions in relief, suppressing the need to cry. He could have kissed Harry when he ushered Black and Lupin out of the room, handed him a handkerchief, and looked out of the window while he recovered his composure. Although he had the feeling that Lupin and Black wouldn't have thought any less of him if he _had_ cried. Maybe the three of them were finally growing up, in a way that Voldemort's presence, in some ways, had denied them.

A/N And now, my little rutabagas, we are once more set up for a plot. A terrifically cunning one, possibly. Thank you reviewers, I shall make the effort to e-mail those of you I am able to, in the next few weeks

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	15. Chapter 15

_Dumbledore had forbidden his intervention._

"_The path is set. What will happen must happen now."_

The years of war had taken their toll on the wizard; when he had had his last proper sleep, Snape could only guess at. It had taken its toll on all of them, but Dumbledore was all that stood between the wizarding world and destruction. And his eyes when they looked at Snape were old, and sad, but infinitely wise. Snape had agreed, but that didn't stop him from forcing himself to witness the consequences of his actions.

_October 31st that year was cold and clear, a full moon hung in the sky and the stars shone out unhindered by clouds. The man leaning against the tree dug his hands into the pockets of his coat, his breath coming out in misty clouds. Nature seemed to be at peace. A fox in the distance barked, and an owl rushed by on soundless eyes. But the man was far from peaceful. He stood, staring at the house opposite, watching, as there was a flash of green light, a faint feminine voice, high cold laughter, and then another flash. He bowed his head then, seeming to sag against the tree, but forced himself to maintain his vigil. He looked up at the bedroom window. Another flash of green light, but this one felt…wrong, somehow. Something was happening, he knew it. Forgetting his promise to Dumbledore, he forced his way into the house, taking the stairs four at a time, stepping over the body of a man. He stepped into the bedroom. It was filled with green light, and the man he had feared and hated for so long was being consumed by roaring green flames. And the boy in the arms of the dead woman was gazing up, unharmed, solemn. The Dark Lord's eyes were closed, his face agonised, as the man picked up the child, carrying him downstairs as the roaring increased in level, growing as the green flames spread, crumbling instead of consuming. As the man leapt out of the door, the house collapsed. A thin wisp of something vaporous rose and drifted off. Then silence. The baby was silent, clutched to the man's chest. He felt peculiarly protective of him. Returning to the tree the man sat leaning against the trunk, long legs bent. He put the baby on his lap, so he was looking into his green eyes. The boy returned his gaze without fear. Feeling slightly awkward, Snape talked softly to him, as he would to an adult. _

"_Well, Potter, I don't know how the hell you did that, but you did. He's gone for a little bit, and I hope you're strong enough to fight him when he returns. You will be, if you're anything like your mother. You'll be an orphan now, like The Dark Lord, well, Voldemort, was. But you'll have been loved, at least for a little while. I hope you'll be loved more, but maybe that little bit is enough. You'll end up hating me, one way or another. I might even hate you in return. I just hope…I hope you'll make the effort to understand me, one day. But good luck, little one. Knowing your father, you'll probably need this."_

_With a sigh, he stood up and kissed the boy on the forehead, and took off his coat, then his shirt, and wrapped him up gently in it. He put the boy gently on top of the ruins, then walked off, feeling far older that his twenty years. When he was standing two hundred paces from the ruin, he sent up a flare of bright green sparks, then Disapparated, knowing someone would be there soon. They would meet again, sooner or later. _

_Then his dream was interrupted. Dumbledore, as he had remembered him most fondly, dressed in a bright purple Hawaiian shirt with orange comets on it, and a pair of ripped jeans, stood there in his living room. Dream Snape frowned, confused. _

"_Oh, don't worry dear boy, just popping in for a chat. Lemon drop?" He accepted, to Dumbledore's obvious delight. _

"_Well, he did understand you in the end. Better than I could have hoped for, really. But you're still not content. Why?" Dumbledore settled himself on the settee, motioning Snape to do the same._

"_I'm tied to him, now. Why would me being content matter? Why would he care? I'm just a teacher for him, really." Dumbledore looked sad as he digested this information. _

"_Is that what you believe, Severus?"_

_Snape nodded. What else was there to believe?_

"_You really are hopelessly dense sometimes, you know."_

"_Harry wouldn't care if you left to become a ballerina, if it meant that you were happy, dear boy."_

_Snape remained sceptical. Dumbledore saw this and smiled gently. He waved one hand. Suddenly Snape was dressed in a tutu. He scowled furiously at the now chuckling wizard. _

"_Sorry. Couldn't resist. You have good legs, you know."_

"_Thanks" Snape said sarcastically._

"_My pleasure. Now, you have to believe that Harry loves you somehow. Ask him under veritaserum, if needs be. It's important, as important as you being at Godrics Hollow. Neither of you can survive this without love."_

_Dumbledore's words seemed to echo about the room, then he was falling, falling back into the other reality. He watched as his younger self proceeded to get almightily drunk, then finally collapse into bitter tears. For the next sixteen years or so, he would never cry again._

_End Dream._

The Rose

Some say love, it is a river,  
That drowns the tender reed.  
Some say love it is a razor,  
That leaves your soul to bleed.  
Some say love it is a hunger,  
An endless aching need.  
I say love it is a flower,  
And you its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking,  
That never learns to dance.  
It's the dream, afraid of waking,  
That never takes the chance.  
It's the one, who won't be taken,  
Who can not seem to give.  
And the soul afraid of dying,  
That never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely,

And the road has been too long,  
And you think that love is only,  
For the lucky and the strong,  
Just remember in the winter,  
Far beneath the bitter snow,  
Lives a seed, that with the sun's love,  
In the spring becomes the rose.

The dream filled him with resolution. There was someone he had to see, to take his leave of, if he was to follow Dumbledore's wish for him.

Snape woke up early, showered, and dressed in his best robes, taking extra care to wash and brush his hair. He went into the kitchen, where only Hermione Granger was up, reading a book and drinking orange juice. Both were early risers, and each respected the other's need for silence. Hermione gave him the same timid smile she always gave him, and he nodded courteously to her, as he always did. He made his coffee, pensive after his dream of the previous night and for a while sat in silence as he drank it.

"Miss Granger, I have some business to attend to. Would you please inform Harry that I will be away for the morning."

The girl looked mildly concerned at this, a slight frown creasing her forehead

"I am attempting nothing foolhardy, I just have to see someone about…something" he clarified.

The look of concern went, and she restrained herself from asking the questions that were inevitably bursting to be asked. He smiled thinly, and Disapparated, amused at her curiosity, and the annoyance it would cause her, unsatisfied.

The building he was standing in front of was an elegant house in the country. It was not huge, but a comfortable size, well proportioned. Snape had chosen it himself, decorating it and making it comfortable. Considering the occupant, it was the least he could do.

Feeling nervous, he knocked on the door and waited on the doorway for a response.

"Who is it?" came a voice from the other side of the door.

"It's Severus Snape," he answered, glad the precautions he had instructed were being followed.

"Password?"

"Sanctuary"

The door was opened, and a rosy cheeked woman beamed at him

"Master Snape, it's good to see you again! Your mother will be pleased"

He smiled shyly at her and was ushered in to the house, and into the drawing room. He had bought this house as a sanctuary for his mother, after his father's death from alcoholism and his joining of the Order. He had decided that as he was in such danger, he couldn't risk his mother's life, and had earned a comfortable sum of money for his potions making skills and his published treatises on potions making.

From the outset, he had determined that no expense should be spared; the comfort and beauty his mother had been deprived of in her marriage to his father would be in abundance in this house. The rooms were light and airy, the wallpapers were in his mother's favourite colours, there were spacious potions laboratories in the cellar, and he paid a housekeeper, Mrs. Pippin to look after the house and be a friend and companion to his mother. He had done it in secret, but he knew what his mother thought to be an ideal house. It had been their favourite game when he was younger, and he had learnt every detail and stored it in his heart. So his mother was in possession of both a house and her independence, brewing potions and cosmetics under her maiden name.

Snape's initiation into the Death Eaters had caused her a tremendous amount of pain; she had collapsed weeping onto the floor when he told her. Snape had not helped her up. In his youth and arrogance, he had refused to even consider her point of view. Having seen what his father was like, he couldn't think of Muggles as anything other than vermin. He had left the house, closing his heart against her. The last thing she had whispered to him was

"I will always love you darling. Always. Whatever path you take in life. Whatever you do." Those words were one of the things that saved him in the end.

"Well, this is an unexpected pleasure"

His mother was standing in the centre of the room, black hair swept back into a bun. She was wearing soft blue robes. Snape thought her the most beautiful woman in the world when she was happy. He crossed the room and swept her into a hug. The smell of lavender transported him back to being a child, reminding him of the happy times when her face wasn't bruised and her eyes unhaunted. He sighed, feeling comforted already by her presence.

Mrs. Pippin came in carrying a tea tray, and the two of them sat opposite each other. His mother spent a few minutes examining his face.

"You've changed somehow. Things have happened to you, both bad and good I think. Are you in danger? Hurt?"

Snape waited as she poured out the tea, thinking about how best to word it. He decided to tell her directly.

"I am no longer in the Dark Lords service. He was informed of my double role by Bellatrix Lestrange. I was…chastised, then left for the aurors to find, along with my godson."

Her hand flew up to her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears.

"I was rescued from Azkaban after three weeks. As you can see, the hospitality has hardly improved" he said with a wry smile.

She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Who rescued you?"

Snape felt his mouth curve into a gentle smile, knowing how surprised she would be. "Harry Potter." He sipped his tea, feeling as if he was just a boy, teasing her once more.

"Well. I thought you said he wanted to kill you"

"I underestimated him. He has offered me his protection."

"But he'll make you spy, put you in more danger, he'll-" she was becoming agitated. Snape held up a hand.

"He has put me under no obligation, Mother. If I wished, I could wait out the War in complete safety."

"But you won't." she said shrewdly, taking a sip of her tea.

"No, Mother. I'll do my duty. But I don't have to. I'm doing it for myself, and...for him."

She smiled at him. They understood each other perfectly. "I'm so glad for you, my son. I'm proud of you. I have one request for you though." Snape nodded. "I want to meet this boy for myself. Once the War is over, would you take him to me please?"

"Of course, Mother."

"Well, that's grandchildren out of the question then" she remarked, eyes dancing.

"Mother!" he cried in mock shock, amazed once more at his mother's understanding of him.

Once he had finished his tea, he took his leave of her.

"Stay safe, dear."

"You too, Mother"

No more was said. No more needed to be. Snape felt another part of his old bitterness dissolve, as he prepared to return to Harry once more.

A/N Well, this is a long one (as the actress said to the bishop). I got the idea from reading a JKR interview about Snape, where she says he was loved by one person. I figure it was his mother. Also, she says one other person was at Godrics Hollow that night. So I says to myself that do be Snape. And I couldn't resist Dumbledore in a Hawaiian shirt and ripped jeans. The picture is just wonderful. And, yes, it is Dumbledore's ghost or some form of it. And, yes, he will be putting in a few more appearances. Possibly wackily dressed. Suggestions on a postcard please. Heh heh heh.

And 'The Rose' is another beautiful song that makes me cry lots and lots

And I think Snape would lose a lot of his armour when he was with his mother. I am, of course, making a lot of assumptions, he could have had a horrible mother, but I don't think that JKR would have included her if she wasn't somehow pivotal in the whole bad/good snapey thing. I hope I pulled it off

xxx


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 20

Snape's POV

Timing: straight after visiting his mother

The house was silent. It was never usually so quiet; there was always conversation from somewhere. At first, Snape had hated the bustle, and being greeted every morning by these infernally cheerful people, but now, he missed it. He was worried by it. Would he be greeted not by 'hellos' but by the sight of their bodies, or the Dark Mark daubed in blood on the wall? His pulse quickened. He ran into every room, there was no one there, finally coming to the Living Room, where he burst in, wand drawn, ready for a fight-

Nothing. No one there. He sagged against the wall in relief, feeling foolish as he remembered the Wards Harry had placed and reinforced every night. He scanned the room for any reason for their departure. On the table, there was a note. With trembling hands, Snape picked it up, reading the brief scrawled note once, twice, three times. What he read there caused him to swear impressively.

Sev,

Raid. Diagon Alley. Gone to fight. Order there. Looks bad. Bring weapons. Be careful.

Harry

_Well, at least he had been told, _he thought as he grabbed his wrist knives and poisoned dagger. _They didn't try and keep me out of it. _

He dressed lightly; there was no point in wearing robes that impeded his movements. His shirt and trousers had a spell woven in that repelled mild spells, and his boots had daggers in the tops of them. His battle robes were charmed to feel weightless, but were dense enough to protect against blades, to a certain extent. He was ready now. He didn't know what he would find. _Merlin, let Harry be safe. Please. _

Well, 'bad' was an understatement. The length of Diagon Alley was filled with the sound of battle; lights flashed everywhere, shouts and screams mingling together into one long drawn out wail of agony. Snape stepped out of the Alleyway, looking for where he could be most useful. It was the week before the new term of Hogwarts started, and children with sensible parents were buying their supplies for school, the same children who were currently huddled in a corner as Death Eaters fired spells at random children, just for amusement. There were none dead. Yet. Some were trying to defend the others, a girl, a second year Snape recognised from Slytherin, was standing fiercely in front of her brother, shielding him from the laughing Death Eater who was casually crucioing her. She was still standing, not even screaming. The only sign of pain she was showing was biting her lip to keep the noise in. A trickle of blood was running down her chin.

Well, it looked as if he was going to be playing babysitter. He smiled slowly at the thought of what he was going to do. It was a terrifying smile, not often seen. But then, Snape hid a lot. Including the full extent of his power. Snape seldom showed what he was truly capable of. Seldom, but not never.

He cast a shield over the children, the strongest one he could muster. He then strolled out into the open street and leaned against a lamppost, waiting for the Death Eaters to realise why their curses were hitting their comrades, not the children. He had missed this. When his allegiance was something he had to balance, he always had to restrain himself, only really casting spells to maintain appearances. Now? Now, he could have some real fun.

The spells stopped. The Death Eaters looked around, confused. One bright spark finally spotted him and nudged his companion. They both stood, frozen and speechless. He had forgotten they thought him dead. One recovered enough to speak.

"Want to join us, traitor?" he spat

"Well, I would, but the entry requirements would appear to have been absurdly lowered. Are schoolchildren your most fitting opponents?" he pitched his voice to carry, drawing their attention fully from the children. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl who had been crucioed begin to silently lead the rest of them away, out of the line of fire. Well, he thought, I'll make this one hell of a diversion.

Not bothering to insult the inbred incompetents, he started to shoot spells at them with accuracy, to stun and immobilise them, not kill them. They would be a useful source of information, and he didn't want the children to have to see people die. He was outnumbered twenty to one, but they needed all the time he could buy. And he was good. He could buy a fair bit.

Good as he was, after ten minutes, he was starting to tire. A few of the curses flung at him had met their mark. He was in a tight spot. And they knew it.

"So, who can save you now, traitor? Potter hates you as much as we do!"

He continued to dodge, block and hex, not wanting to waste the breath to reply, when above him he heard a throaty throbbing roar. The Death Eaters looked up, and Snape took advantage of their inattention, taking a few of them down.

"Lesson one, gimp. Assume nothing."

The situation didn't seem quite as bad now. Hovering above, on a shiny motorbike, wearing the biggest shit-eating grin Snape had ever seen was Sirius Black. Of all the people to be glad to see! Winking at Snape, Black dive bombed the Death Eaters, scattering them, and scooped him up. As they circled round once more, Snape somehow managed to straddle the bike facing backwards.

Between them, they made a formidable team. As Black drove at the Death Eaters with one hand, blasting them with rapidly fired spells, Snape took out the ones still standing. Three sweeps, and not one of them could stand up, let alone disapparate or cast a spell. Making sure their wands were taken away, Snape bound them up in ropes, leaving them to the Aurors to sort out.

"Right, lets go and find more victims" Black shouted over the roar of the engine.

"But the children-"

"Minerva's taken them to Hogwarts to be treated. Don't worry mate."

"I wasn't worried" Snape said gruffly, feeling somehow caught out. Black laughed, and turned the bike around.

They sped off again. Mediwizards were treating the casualties, portkeying some, and keeping the critical cases there. This was the fringes of the conflict, and casualties were high. Some were covered in sheets. Snape bowed his head as he passed them. The shops were unrecognisably burnt and smashed. The rebuilding would be tough. It was such a stupid waste of so many things; freedom, lives, innocence, youth. When he thought of how sure he had been when he joined the death eaters, he felt so stupid, so arrogant, so young. But they had all been, back then. Now they had changed. Things were not so clear cut any more. The boundaries kept changing. Snape pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He needed to stay focused on what was happening. And, at the moment, he was flying very high and very fast in rapidly decreasing spirals. During the course of his descent, Snape decided he wanted a bike. This was fun! He could have a premature midlife crisis and buy one. He figured he'd damn well earned it.

Harry's POV (A/N: This part contains some disturbing death images. Not sure if it's rating boosting, but if you are offended/ traumatised, you have been warned.)

What was the point? Why was Voldemort attacking in daylight, in public? Previously he had just picked off certain people, one by one, never risking his own men, but this? This was open warfare, and wizards on both sides were dying. What was the aim? It had come without warning; it was a fluke that Tonks had wanted to go and pick up a book and seen what was happening, so it wasn't aimed at Harry. By now, he had learnt that nothing Voldemort did was without reason. He didn't have much time to think; he was currently circling above on his Firebolt, picking off Death Eaters, and searching for people in trouble. The Malfoys didn't seem to be having any problems; they had formed a triangle, and were currently giving their former allies absolute hell. Ron and Hermione were getting injured wizards to safety, and Lupin was fighting with a ferocity he hadn't previously displayed, against the wizards that, a few minutes ago, had broken Tonks' wand arm. So who were they after?

Then he saw. Three of the Death Eaters were dragging two people out of the fray. A girl with dirty blond hair, and a man he didn't recognize. There was a struggle, the man's face was streaked with blood, and the girl had to be restrained with both arms. But the Death Eaters meant business. They were purposeful, it wasn't some random attack. Voldemort wanted them captured or dead. And no one could see. No one from the Order looked. They were going to die, right there, with Harry watching.He had to do something! He looked around, time to slow as he assessed his options. Sirius was speeding down to the action, Sev on the back, they were too far away. It was only him then. He aimed his broom directly at the trio, and sent himself hurtling down, not bothering to hold on, sending any hex he could, he was going so fast, he would never make it out of this, but he had tried. At least he'd tried. I'm so sorry, Sev. They had seen him hurtling towards them, and they paused, their captives seemingly forgotten. Thirty feet. They shot curses at him, jets of purple, red, yellow, blue, black. He didn't notice. The pain hadn't kicked in yet. Twenty feet. They kept hexing. Harry felt something shatter, a white-hot blast of pain, but he didn't slow. Ten feet. Clawing his hands, he reached out, unwilling to risk hitting Luna or her father with a spell. There was a shout, he could see the whites of his eyes, one of them had his wand pointing at Harry. Not breaking eye contact the Death Eater said, very deliberately and clearly "Avada-" But he didn't finish. His eyes went glassy; he toppled over, a dagger sticking out of the back of his neck. Then Harry hit the ground. There was a white light, a man screaming, then nothing.

"Severus, stop pacing. You're making me dizzy."

"What was he thinking? How is he still alive? It was fifty feet at least! And the curses they threw at him! What damage did they do?"

Poor Sev, he sounded so lost, such a mixture of anger and worry.

"Severus, Harry's tough. And he's still breathing. Where there's a pulse, there's hope. And you're hurt. Sit down." Sirius sounded gentle, kind, patient. He was staying together. Harry was glad. At least his Sev would have another friend, when he was gone. He frowned. He didn't want to leave. But they all thought he would die. Would he? He frowned slightly. But that would mean he had lost. He couldn't lose. Then his friends would all die. It was simple. He had to live then. He opened his eyes, wincing at the light. Everything hurt so bad. He tried to speak, but ended up croaking.

Both of them rushed over to his bedside. He tried to focus on them, but it made him dizzy.

"What is it, Harry?" Sirius asked gently. Sev seemed unable to speak.

"Not going to die. Don't want to. Don't cry. Be happy." Speaking was such an effort. Even breathing was.

Sirius laughed breathlessly "Thank Merlin, Harry. We'd miss you so much, lad."

Harry smiled. They wanted him for him, not because he was their saviour. But Sev was crying still. His tears were so pretty, like crystals, catching the light as they fell. He tried to reach out and touch one, like a child with a bubble, but he hadn't the strength. With an incoherent noise, Sev caught his hand, and held it in both of his, as if he never wanted to let go. Harry was glad. It made him feel safe, comforted. He drifted off to sleep once more.

He was in the great hall of Hogwarts. Voldemort had killed them all. He recognised people among the bodies, people he loved. Hagrid, an axe in his back, blood trickling from his mouth, Neville, slumped against the floor, face contorted into a rictus grin, Ginny, a broken rag doll with blood streaked hair, the Malfoys, beautiful, silver haired, dead. He continued to walk. Ron and Hermione, holding each other, the rest of the Weasleys, even Percy. Luna, wand still stuck behind her ear, a dagger in her heart, Remus, flecks of foam at his mouth, blood seeping from the silver bullet wounds, Sirius, handsome, smiling face unrecognisably burnt, and Sev. Gods, Sev. His Sev. They didn't have to stamp on his hands or break his fingers. They didn't need to torture him until he had bitten his tongue to shreds. But they had, and laughd as they did it. His beautiful fingers, broken like twigs. His legs gave way; he knelt sobbing on the floor, fists clenched, wanting to scream, to die.

"You have to continue. You have to watch as this happens, and still have the will to fight." Harry looked at Dumbledore. His face was grave and wise. Gently, the wizard reached over and closed Sev's eyes. He held out a hand to Harry. He accepted, tears still running down his face, his heart seeming to shatter.

"Some of this death you have no power to prevent. You will have to leave some of them by the wayside. You have to prepare your heart for sorrow: to keep on until you cannot physically walk, and then drag yourself until you have met your goal. But now? I believe you should return to the hospital wing." Dumbledore raised his hand and waved. The bodies were gone, and he was standing at a crossroads with Dumbledore, who was now dressed in black leathers, wearing a helmet with horns, standing next to a Harley Davidson. He smiled, mounted the bike, and sped off, silver hair fluttering behind him. Harry's jaw dropped, as he felt himself rush back to a body that hurt, back to reality, back to Sev.

"Harry? Harry! Wake up, you're dreaming!"

He knew. It didn't stop the sobs that wracked his body, or his hands from shaking. He opened his eyes, and looked at Sev, seeming to see his broken and dead on the floor. The image was branded onto his soul, and he couldn't seem to escape it. Sev didn't say anything, but picked him up gently and he was held as if he was a small child. He buried his face in Sev's robes, listening to his slow, steady heartbeat. Alive he told himself. Alive. Sev waited until his sobs had subsided.

"Bad dream?" he asked with wry understatement.

Harry nodded once.

"Tell me about it." Sev commanded softly. Harry knew it would be cathartic, but it was so hard to put what he had seen into words.

"He killed all the people I love and care about. And- I may have to face that, and keep fighting, whatever it costs me, until he's dead. And I will. And I hate that I have to."

Sev sighed and waited for him to compose himself.

"So why did you look so shocked to see me?" Sev sounded puzzled, Harry was amazed at how unaware he was at how much he meant to him.

"You were there. I thought I'd lost you forever, that I'd never see you again" His voice cracked, and he started weeping again. Sev was silent as he gently soothed him, stroking his hair, as he spoke in a tone Harry had never heard him use.

"I'm here, Harry. And I will never leave you. Never." He said emphatically. "I'll stay here for as long as you need me. I promise you that, Harry. You're stuck with me now. Besides," he added, tone dry, "someone has to help you tie your shoelaces. Now go to sleep. Rest, and get better. We can discuss this some more then." He made as if to go, but Harry clutched his robes.

"Stay with me. Please." He whispered.

He stayed. Harry drifted back off to sleep, listening to his breathing and heartbeat. If he could have frozen that moment, stayed in it forever, he would have. In Sev's arms, he felt warm, protected, safe, and loved. Just before he drifted off, he felt Sev kiss the top of his head. "Sleep well, Harry" he whispered tenderly. Harry knew he would. No dreams could harm him where he was now.

A/N Aww! See? I do care; I gave you some nice fluffy stuff as well as all the sadness! Of course, I should be doing schoolwork, but hey! I don't need a future! I hope I did the love stuff all right. I don't want Sev to be anyone other than his ornery self.

Llassah

xxx

Next chapter- Strategy, the Lovegoods, and Horcruxes (oh my!) Probably not this weekend, but during next week sometime.


	17. Chapter 17

What could he say? What did one say to a roomful of people who blamed him for the deaths of their loved ones? How could he look into their accusing eyes? Fifty people, all dead, and they hated him for it. They all thought it was him who should have died, to have been killed in his death flight to save the Lovegoods. Because he was alive, and they were not. Those people would hate him for every tear they shed. So he stood there, silent, as bitter words pierced his heart, knowing nothing he said could stop them from hating him. No matter that he didn't have the authority to call for extra auror patrols, or that had the Order not been alerted, it would have been a massacre.

Hundreds of people wanted him to die. _He _wanted to die. He left the room, silent, ignoring their angry calls, or his friends' concerned voices. So this was what Dumbledore had to do. This was leadership, not the glory and trumpets, or a blazing phoenix against a moonlit sky. It was knowing that however hard you tried, it was never enough. Never. He ran.

Down corridors, through the twisting maze of Hogwarts, down the stairs, out of the door, feeling the cool evening air against his tears, then towards a ruined tower, up the stairs, to the top, where he stood in the place where his innocence had utterly left him. To a place where youth and eagerness had been replaced by a weary searching, a grim determination, the dry taste of duty on his lips.

What had made him the one who had to shoulder this burden? Was it his blood? Well, a Sectumsempra spell would sort that out. He could sit back and watch as everything that made him have to be Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World flowed in rivulets down the stairs. Then he would be nobody. He wouldn't be Harry. No one would hate him for failure then. He pointed the wand at himself. His hand shook. He couldn't. He knew the word, but he couldn't. His wand fell to the ground, and he stood there shaking with anger.

He punched the stone wall, feeling the pain through the red haze, feeling something shatter, feeling the warmth of his blood, feeling something other than guilt. He dropped to his knees and looked at his broken knuckles, curiously detached, as if it were not really his hand. Gryffindor red, Sev would really hate that.

Maybe that was why he standing there, looking down at him with such fury in his eyes. Perhaps that was why he gestured with his hand, slamming him up against the wall, keeping him there. Harry didn't know.

Sev stood there, breathing hard, shaking.

"Don't you _dare_ do anything like that! Ever!" he shouted, face white. Why did he care? He was a murderer. They had said so.

"I deserve it. I killed all those people." He answered, voice no more than a whisper. Sev's eyes widened, shock obvious.

"Which people?" he asked, voice gentler now, as if Harry were a small animal who would startle easily.

"At the raid. Didn't you hear them saying it was all my fault?" Harry asked conversationally, as if he were explaining some simple fact.

Sev swore vehemently.

"Yes, I suppose you blame me too. They were right. I should have- I should have" His Sev blamed him too. They all wanted him to die. He tried to escape the spell Sev had put on him, but it was useless.

"What are you doing, Harry? What's the matter?"

Why were his eyes so concerned? Why was his voice so tender?

"I killed all those people. I can't stop thinking about them, Sev, their faces, blackened skin, they looked so surprised! So surprised to be dead. I should be punished for that, should be killed." He was babbling now, his mind repeating phrases they had said, their names, their faces, he closed his eyes tightly to block it out but it was no use.

"Stop it" Sev hissed.

"I can't. I just…can't. I can't stop, Sev."

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I can distract you, if you want." His voice was like black silk now, filled with some dark promise.

"You can't. Nothing can."

Except for his lips, his tongue, his hands sending jolts of electricity through him, until all Harry could see were those eyes, and all he could feel was a kiss, and all he could taste was coffee and starlight.

The spell was released, and Harry fell into his arms, still kissing back, hand running feverishly through his hair, down his back, exploring, wanting every last bit of Sev, wanting Sev to have every last thing he could give to him, until the pain in his heart and the ache in his hand didn't matter, until Voldemort was just a nasty story, and duty was just a word.

They pulled apart, and Harry felt as if a cloud had been lifted from his mind. He could have died! He could have thrown away all of his chances of defeating Voldemort. He could have left Sev, Sirius,Remus, Ron, Hermione, everyone he loved, tobe tortured, killed. All because some peoplewere too scaredto blame the right person. And the look on Sev's face. He never wanted to see him that scared ever again.

"Sorry." He said quietly, looking at the floor. Sev lifted his chin gently.

"I've done worse, and over smaller things" he said with a wry smile. "Just come and find me when you feel like that."

"What will you do?" Harry asked, not wanting to cause him trouble.

"Well, kissing seemed to work rather well." Sev remarked with a wicked smile. Harry blushed.

"I'm just glad you didn't do anything worse." He took Harry's hand in his own, noticing Harry's wince. He hissed in sympathy when he saw the damage, but didn't rebuke Harry,just casting a healing spell and a cleansing spell.

"Right. Now whiskey, chocolate, somewhere comfortable to sit and a long talk" Sev said briskly. "And I think we need to get off this sodding tower. It hasn't got very favourable memories for either of us." Harry nodded in agreement, and they walked down the steps of the tower. As they walked back to the school, Sev slung an arm around Harry's shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. The public affection that surely didn't come easily to Sev warmed him more than glib declarations and flowery words ever could. Harry leaned into him, putting his own arm around his waist.

As they reached the entrance hall, a small, dark haired girl came up to him.

"I just wanted to say thank you" she began shyly, scuffing the floor with one shoe. "My parents… they died, but you tried. And even if they died, someone else's parents are alive because of you. So good luck. Both of you." She flashed them a fleeting smile, then ran off before Harry could answer.

"That girl single-handedly defended a group of children who were being tortured by Death Eaters." Sev explained. "She's a second year Slytherin, quiet, shy, wouldn't say boo to a goose. She should have been in Gryffindor." He said wryly.

"Slytherins are brave. The most cowardly snivelling piece of offal came from Gryffindor. Slytherins are just a bit less…ostentatious about it" Harry said firmly.

"You forgot 'a lot less stupid' as well" Sev corrected, eyes teasing. "But I'm glad you think so."

"I know so. So what's this about whiskey and chocolate?"

"So what are we?" Harry asked, feeling considerably steadier after the chocolate.

"Wizards, Potter." Sev drawled. Harry threw a cushion at him, which he ducked.

"Stop avoiding the question, Sev. I need to know."

"We just are, Harry. There are no neat labels, no convenient definitions. I need you. If you wanted, I would give you the moon, the stars, my life. Without you, I wouldn't want to live. I want to wake up next to you, to keep you forever by my side. You make me feel as if…as if I might not be quite so terrible after all. As if I could do the right thing. You make me hope. I think I could even love you. I mean, you don't have to love me back, I'm twice your age, and ugly and prickly and mean, and-"

"I could love you too."

"You could? Really?"

"Yes, you daft git! I love you! There's no maybe or perhaps about it, I love you! I love you _because_ of those things. So get used to it." Harry scowled fiercely.

"Well, I never knew a declaration of love could be so…aggressive."

"We're hardly typical." Harry replied, mildly embarrassed. Sev smiled, the first genuinely happy smile Harry had seen.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."

They sat there for the rest of the evening, talking about anything and everything, munching chocolate and sipping on whisky. Tomorrow they would worry about Horcruxes, and strategy. Tomorrow they would ask why the hell more precautions weren't taken. Tomorrow they would find out why Voldemort wanted the Lovegoods dead. But the night? The night was all theirs.

A/N The song that inspired this chapter was 'To You I Bestow' by Mundy. It's on the Romeo + Juliet soundtrack, but you can get lyrics from t'internet. It's a beautiful song, I love the lines 'Kiss me and tell me it's not broken/Kiss me and kiss me 'till I'm dead /'cause I'd give you the stars from the bruised evening sky /in a crown of jewels for your head now' I had a relationship like that, but it ended. Oh well. But I didn't want the chapter to be a slow motion run, swooping violins and rose petals.

And Harry isn't going to be making a habit of punching walls, but sometimes, when you feel guilty or angry, you want to do things like that. I hope I wrote that bit ok, I know what an emotive topic self harm can be, and I'm not saying it is anything other than a horrible trap, but he can't stay rational all the time.

Llassah

xxxxx

P.S. I'm neatening up the style in the earlier chapters. The important details are still there, but it's a bit more...thought out.


	18. Chapter 18

Sleeping on a sofa was something Sev hadn't done for a while, not since his student days. His neck and back were slightly cricked, and the whisky had given him a slight headache, but at the moment, he was the happiest man in the world. And it was because of the son of his former enemy, the boy who was currently making his arm numb where he lay sprawled against it with his head nestled against his chest. He wouldn't have believed it if anyone had told him this would happen. Sev had never allowed himself to even hope someone would dare to love him without some sort of potion induced madness or several blows to the head.

Harry started to stir, opening sleepy green eyes. His newly shortened hair was a tousled mess, his robes were crumpled, and there was a smear of chocolate across his cheek. Sev wanted him to look like that forever. Besides, he was amusing when he wasn't quite awake.

"I suppose we should get dressed." Sev said reluctantly. Harry groaned and buried his face in his chest. It was usually the other way round, with Harry annoyingly ebullient in the mornings, and Sev needing coffee to make him human (at least as human as he could ever be).

"Are you feeling a little delicate this morning, Mister Potter?" he asked, trying not to smile.

"Grmph."

"So eloquent. In English please, Mister Potter."

This was so fun! If he'd known that Harry had hangovers, he'd have spiked his pumpkin juice in his first year! A twinge of conscience meant that Sev relented and murmured an anti-hangover remedy. Harry sat up and stretched with a smile.

"Thank you. But was the teasing necessary?" he asked plaintively.

"I believe it was." Sev answered in his most formal tone, a smile threatening to break through once more.

"Right. Clothes. Where?"

Sev didn't know. This was the first night Harry had spent out of the infirmary, and he could have been put anywhere. Ron and Hermione had packed up at the flat and brought all of their belongings to Hogwarts, but where they were in Hogwarts, Sev didn't know. His rooms were in the dungeons once more. He had missed them when he was teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts. They had suited him in their cold sparseness; he hadn't wanted comfort, he didn't think he deserved it. He was glad he wasn't in the rooms he had spent Harry's sixth year; the amount of soul-searching and worrying he had done in those damn chambers, the amount of times he had just sat staring into the fire, knowing he had to do the thing that terrified him the most, afraid of what would happen when he had done it-

It had made him feel old, as scared as a child in the deep nameless dark.

"Here they are! I wonder how the House elves knew we were…whatever we are"

Sev shrugged, slightly annoyed they had made such assumptions. _Even if they were, somehow, correct._

He glanced at the clock. Shit!

"Five minutes until breakfast. Cleansing charms, and clothes. No time for showers, sorry." He added seeing Harry's scowl. _Merlin! He's turning into me!_

Harry must have guessed the reason for his wry smile.

"What a role reversal" he commented, stretching with a groan. Sev found himself fascinated with the play of muscles in his torso, but noticed the slight wince Harry made.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, just a little bruising" Harry replied evasively.

"Off." Sev commanded. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you said we only had five minutes" he remarked with a smirk. Sev said nothing, continuing to stare implacably at Harry. After a few seconds, he complied, lifting his shirt over his head and turning round, muttering about how unnecessary all this was.

His back was almost black with bruises and scrapes. Sev was overcome with guilt.

"Gods, Harry! Why didn't you tell me I'd done this to you!"

"I've had worse" he replied with a shrug.

He had, Sev had seen it through his eyes, but that didn't make it better. He didn't want to hurt his Harry, whatever the intention.

"It was a…loving injury, Sev. At the time, I didn't notice it. You might have hurt my back, but you saved far more of me. If you feel that strongly about it, cast a healing charm, but I refuse to allow you to feel guilty. Understood?"

Harry's eyes were fierce and determined as he turned around to glare at him, a fierceness that was belied by the gentleness of the caress on his face.

Sev cast a healing charm, but he still felt guilty about what he had done, whatever Harry said. His guilt was soon replaced by a stronger emotion as Harry removed his trousers.

"What are you doing?"

"Professor Snape, I would have thought that was obvious" Harry replied in an amused voice.

"Erm, yes, it is, I suppose, well-" he trailed off, feeling a complete buffoon.

"You sound like Percy does. Or did, at least."

Percy Weasley had been at the attack on Diagon Alley. Seeing the way the ministry didn't immediately rush to help had shattered a great deal of his naïve illusions. The death of his girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, had shattered the rest. He had helped a great deal with the attack, and though Sev couldn't stand the boy, he had a certain grudging respect for the way he had got up and fought, despite his world collapsing about him. But he was shy now, diffident, humble. His blind faith in the authorities had been removed, and with it the one sense of identity he had taken for his own; the fact that he was the only 'respectable' member of the Weasley family. Still, he had begged for their forgiveness, when he could otherwise have simply cut them out once more. Pride was a hard thing to let go of. Inhibitions were harder.

Hesitantly, Sev began to unbutton his robes, fumbling with the buttons as he tried not to shake.

"Here. Let me help."

Harry deftly undid his robes, still clad in his boxers. He slid them down over his shoulders, leaving them to puddle in a heap on the floor. Sev stood still, afraid Harry would laugh, or show pity at his ugliness. Sev was confident in his intellect, skill and power, but he could never hope to imitate Harry's careless self-confidence in his own body. Sev had never considered his body to be anything other than a necessary but annoying object, at best a means to intimidate. This was stupid! Why should he be worrying? Why did Harry's opinion matter so much to him? He almost longed for a return to the contemptuous indifference to Harry he had previously felt. But no. There had been no indifference in Sev's attitude. Harry had always been important to him. Harry had always been a preoccupation, whether it was love or hate Sev felt. From the moment he had seen the child, he had known that their paths would cross. Somehow.

"Sev. Thinking is bad." Harry chided gently with a smile.

The boy stepped back and regarded him appraisingly. Sev waited for the laughter. But there was no amusement or pity on his face. It was…admiration.

"Damn it, Sev, why have you been hiding this?"

Had it been anyone else, Sev would have dismissed their words as one of those kind lies he could never stand. But Harry would never lie like that to him. Not any more. So that meant…

"You like me?" He sounded like a sodding teenager!

Harry put a hand on his chest, fingers splayed.

"Yes. I like you. In fact, I think you should go topless on a more regular basis. Sev, love, you're beautiful. Perfect. In fact, could we skip breakfast?"

"Lets start some scandalous rumours then" Sev teased, amazed at his luck.

"Yup, sod the war, being a hero can wait."

But both knew where their duty lay.

Harry pulled out a black t-shirt with

"Save a broom. Ride a wizard" on it in white letters.

"Very…leader like and confidence inspiring" Sev said sarcastically. Harry just grinned and pulled on a pair of faded muggle jeans.

"It's comfortable. I would wear my 'Voldemort for President' t-shirt, but I thought I'd save it for the final battle. Wouldn't want to spoil it."

"Quite."

Sev gave up and started to pull out his usual uniform of trousers, shirt, and robes, all black, but Harry stopped him.

"No robes. If I can't have my wicked way with you, I want at least to be able to ogle your arse."

"You Gryffindors are so obvious."

"Damn straight. Please? For me?"

Puppy dog eyes should be banned. Sev sighed, and put trousers and a shirt on.

"That's better."

"So glad I meet your approval" he said snippily. Harry only grinned unrepentantly

"Right, lets go to breakfast and shock 'em all"

"Put them off their bacon"

"Sounds fun. Will there be coffee?"

"Yes, Mister Potter. You are truly turning into me."

"So it would seem…"

"Stop trying to look cunning. It doesn't work."

"Even if I narrow my eyes?"

"You're squinting."

"Oh. Damn."

A/N: The ride a wizard thing was on one of the Potter related t-shirts on www dot cafepress dot com. There's some good stuff on there. Voldemort for president is my own invention. I just love t-shirts with clever slogans. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. And I don't think Sev's really ever had a lover before, or anyone who has seen him naked. Sexwise, he would probably ensure they didn't pay any attention to his appearance...heh heh heh

xxxxx


	19. Chapter 19

19

Sirius had turned one of the classrooms into a makeshift workshop. He was standing among piles of metal and tyres and handlebars and objects Harry couldn't even begin to name. The twins and Arthur Weasley were all tinkering with another motorbike, and all three looked filthy but contented. When the Weasleys saw Harry, they gave him a cheerful wave which he returned. He was feeling more trepidation than cheer as he approached the bench Sirius was working at.

"Can we talk? Alone, please?" Sirius had missed breakfast that morning, and Harry would rather he heard about him and Sev from him, and not from any gossip. It was the least he could do.

Sirius nodded, his smile turning to an expression of worry as he took in Harry's face and the awkward way he was standing.

Harry didn't start to tell him until they were outside by the lake. But he wondered if Sirius knew something about him and Sev anyway. There was something in the way Sirius had studied his face, and his lack of questions about what Harry had to tell him that said it wouldn't come as a total shock to him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, as Harry skimmed stones and Sirius looked out to the rushes on the other side, where Harry had stood in his third year and conjured the Patronus. He decided to stop procrastinating, and tell Sirius the truth.

"I'm in love with Severus Snape." The words tripped over each other as they left his mouth, and Harry couldn't help but smile as he said them. Sirius didn't turn around, but kept looking out into the distance.

"I know." His voice was neither happy nor sad, it was more resigned. As if it was something that was long expected but not wanted. Harry wasn't sure what he should say. How could he make Sirius like it? The answer came to him with swift starkness. He couldn't. No more than he could stop loving Sev. He wanted to cry, but bit his lip. Whatever he did, someone he loved would be hurt. Sirius turned to look at him.

"C'mere." He said softly. Harry sat down next to him, and Sirius put an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into his warmth, and Sirius started to speak.

"I admit, I'm not going to be strewing flowers in his path, or writing epic odes about your blossoming relationship. But you love him. And it doesn't seem to be some one sided youthful infatuation, because he loves you too. I saw that even before you told me. When you stumbled, he would automatically put a hand out to stop you falling. He worries about you constantly. Love is a rare thing. You need to grab it wherever you find it. Even if you have decidedly questionable taste" he added wryly. Harry was tempted to tell him Sev was better topless, but thought it might not go down too well.

"And before you start worrying about what your father would have thought, he understood about love. He married Lily Evans, when association with muggleborns was something that got you killed. Love's a strange and powerful thing, Harry. And I'd rather you loved a man I used to hate than not love anyone."

It was a start. And as much as he could hope for at the moment. He let the subject drop.

"So what are you doing in that workshop then?"

Sirius grinned, enthusiastic. "We're making combat bikes. You can have the brooms as nippier things for dives and hexes, but a bike is better for lifting casualties and charging buildings. I, well, I used to be a member of the wizarding Hells Angels, and I could rustle up some of my colleagues for firepower. It'll be just like old times." His tone was nostalgic.

"You were a Hells Angel? Why?" Harry had never heard that before. Sirius looked slightly shifty.

"I liked the leather. I picked up a good many pretty girls on my bike. It's seen plenty, that old thing has. Besides, they're just so darn fun to ride."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "The girls or the bikes?"

"Both."

They walked together back up to the workshops.

"So what are you doing to these things?"

"Flying charms, anti hex precautions, stability measures, dragon fire flamethrowers, and a few things the Weasleys are putting on there I haven't even asked about. All highly illegal, which, of course, makes it twice as fun."

Harry had never seen Sirius so animated, but he was truly in his element here. Pranks and inventiveness were his forte, when they involved bikes, Harry couldn't imagine something Sirius would enjoy more. It was a pity there were no girls there. Then he would truly be in heaven.

"You should ask Hermione about some other charms" he suggested. "She's nastily creative really. Ginny as well. Between them, they could make anyone's life hell. And Luna. She's truly brilliant, bordering on genius really."

Sirius began to smile slowly. "How could I get them to agree to helping?"

Harry returned the smile. "Think of it as a chance to polish some of that renowned charm. I'm sure you could be exceedingly persuasive if you put your mind to it."

"They don't stand a chance."

-8-8-8

"Are you mad? You're proposing to tell them about your quest? What if they betray you? What if they tell him? After all that Dumbledore did to keep this a secret."

Harry had been arguing round in circles for what felt like hours. Both debating with himself and Snape. He was tired of it.

"If Dumbledore hadn't been so bloody secretive, I wouldn't be in such a shite position! I have to fight a war, and find the horcruxes with nothing except a vague idea of where they are, and his assurances that they exist! If he hadn't been so eager to ignore every single one of my warnings about a possible Death Eater attack, if he had told me more, then maybe I wouldn't have to ask them for help! Maybe! Perhaps! And if Voldemort hasn't guessed by now that that's what I'm up to, then really, he's a bit stupid. So I find these horcruxes, what's to say they aren't attached to a horde of Death Eaters? Just how am I supposed to last until the end of the battle without asking for help from them, without trusting them?"

"He had his reasons." Sev said in a neutral tone of voice.

"Yes. He did. I just can't see the sense in them." Harry sighed, putting his head in his hands. Sev came and put his arms around him.

"You think there's so little hope?" he asked, rubbing his back gently. Harry relaxed into his arms, feeling the tension melt away.

"We're going to need a bloody miracle." He admitted frankly.

"I need to know all I can, and the Malfoys know a lot about a lot of things. A lot of illegal things. I just have to …make it worth their while to tell me, somehow."

"You're resourceful, Harry. If needs be, you could offer him the post of Minister of Magic."

Was he kidding? Gods, that would be chaos! But he was kidding. Right? Sev's shoulders started to shake with suppressed laughter. After a few seconds, Harry joined in.

"But if you think that's a bad idea…" Harry began hesitantly, stepping back so he could see Sev's expression

"Since when has that stopped you?" Sev asked, face inscrutable.

"I mean, I could probably do research and stuff, find out like that…"

"No. It's the right choice. But I'm glad you'd listen to me." He said firmly. "Well, shall we go in?"

Ron, Hermione, Luna Lovegood, her father, Verity, all three Malfoys, Harry, Sirius, Remus, Hagrid and Sev were sat around a table in the library. The room had been warded against eavesdroppers. All of them waited as Harry collected his thoughts. He really had no idea if this was a good plan. He steeled himself grimly.

"Potter, smile. You look as grim as if you were chasing the snitch." Draco Malfoy drawled, sounding amused. "Out with it. You're not pregnant, are you?"

This startled a smile out of him.

"Is that even possible?"

"There are a few potions one can take." Sev, bless him, sounded mildly alarmed. Harry left the subject at that. It was fun to leave him wondering if he wanted a child. Kept him on his toes…

"No, I'm not pregnant. I'm here to ask you all for information. About Voldemort and Horcruxes."

He scanned each face intently. Draco's was blank. Narcissa looked similarly confused. Ron and Hermione knew. Remus was frowning slightly. Hagrid looked distinctly unhappy, Sirius…he looked as if some mystery was clearing. Luna's eyes were sharply focussed on Harry, Mr. Lovegood looked concerned, and Lucius Malfoy looked almost amused. Interesting. He started with his Godfather

"Sirius?"

"Regulus, last time I saw him, he was…rambling, a complete mess, driven half mad. Kept saying something about a Horcrux, about hiding it, stealing it. A couple of days later, he was dead. Idiot boy. I didn't think it mattered, really. And then, well, other concerns swiftly replaced it. I'd forgotten until you said that."

"Lucius?"

"Well, I have come across Horcruxes in my extensive reading. Which was all, of course, strictly academic. I understand that they are fragments of a soul, embodied in specific objects of value to the owner of the soul. It's a dark magic, highly illegal, but can bestow something like immortality on a person." He paused, as if gathering up courage, and then asked, with deliberate casualness "Just out of interest, could a Horcrux be kept in any object?"

Harry nodded.

"Even something like a book?"

He nodded again, wondering how Lucius would take the news.

"Bugger. Another blackmail tool down the drain." He shrugged philosophically. "That explains why he was so almightily pissed off. It's quite funny really" He snickered slightly. "I was working against him before I knew it."

Something in Lucius's eyes unsettled Harry. Azkaban had left him even more unpredictable than before. His silver eyes seemed to sometimes hold a pain that was nearly madness. Draco saw his concern, and gave a small shrug, as if to say 'I know, but nothing can be done.' When Harry had asked Sev about it, he had sighed heavily

"Some things can never be erased. Azkaban leaves a taint on your soul. Of course, most wizards don't care about the safety of those who could pose a danger to them. They want them away from people. They don't want to see how much madness increases the danger to them should said criminals escape. Justice and vengeance are, for them, interchangeable."

"Remus?"

"We have a pretty long slog ahead of us, don't we, Harry? How does one take down someone who is near- invincible?"

But instead of giving up, Remus sat up a little straighter in his chair, squared his shoulders, and gave a grin that was distinctly wolfish.

"Count me in."

Harry laughed, relieved. He was building up another army of misfits, the stuff of songs. Lunatics, werewolves, half giants. How would the Ministry react to this one?

"Aye. And me." Hagrid rumbled, a grim smile replacing the troubled frown.

"Well, someone has to be the voice of reason in all of this." Draco drawled, his glittering eyes belying his nonchalant tone.

Verity Lovegood pushed his black hair back from his forehead, and shrugged. "As we're on Voldemort's hit list already, may as well pursue this." He raised an eyebrow at his daughter, who nodded resolutely.

"Why are you on his hit list? Surely he's not all that concerned about what you print in that paper of yours." Sev was keeping his tone admirably even; for all that he had dismissed the content as 'supposition and claptrap'. Mr Lovegood must have picked up on Sev's scepticism, because he sighed with mock resignation.

"Thing is, we don't actually seriously mean half the stuff we print. It's more a means of seeing what the Ministry are hushing up. Every week, one ministry related story has a grain of truth within it, and we can tell how much they're covering up by how many suppression orders are issued by them. That, or the assassination attempts. If we get really concerned, we tell the Order."

"So what caught Riddle's attention then?"

Lovegood frowned slightly. "I've been puzzling that one out. Last month, we did a history of all the mysterious unsolved murders of muggles. Just for light relief, you understand." Sirius snorted with laughter. Luna looked at him quizzically, and he shrugged and winked. Shaking herself as if from a daydream, she continued from where her father had left off

"There is a period of time within Riddle's life that he could have committed some of these murders. But what we don't quite understand is why he's so worried about people knowing about them. It's not as if he's in the running for 'model citizen of the year'. So there must be something about the murders that he wants to hush up. Given what you've said already, I can only assume it is connected with Horcruxes."

Harry sat back and let out a low whistle. "Good, we could do with some more clues. Have you got a list of possible murders and locations? I'll see if anything jumps out at me." Grinning at Sev's disapproving look, he shrugged "I'm better at instincts now. We can always check every location on the list, if you'd prefer. How many are there, Luna?"

"About fifty."

"Guess away, then, Mister Potter." Sev said in a dark tone that sent shivers running down Harry's spine.

8-8-8

The list of murders and their locations were diverse and random. Unfocusing his mind, Harry allowed his eyes to wander down the writing, until one murder jumped out at him. He jabbed a finger onto it with certainty.

"This one." He said, removing his finger and looking at where it was.

"'The Eros club for Discerning Gentlemen, SoHo, London. A notorious gay bar. The body of a wealthy man found dead, with no marks left on him. A regular punter, known to like leading the naïve astray.' He must have found someone who wasn't as naïve as he looked then. Sev, did you know Riddle was gay?" Great, was that something he had transmitted through his scar, along with the visions and the parseltongue?

Sev shrugged, bemused. "No. I had never really thought about his predilections. By the time I entered his service, he had purged himself of anything remotely to do with the humanity he had eschewed. I would imagine Lucius knows slightly more than me. Care to elaborate?" He asked innocently, ignoring the warning glance Harry sent his way.

"Oh, he was as gay as a spring parade." Lucius remarked airily. "Of course, most of us were, back then."

"Ah yes, the wonders of inbreeding and aristocrats." Sev smiled slightly, as he and Lucius exchanged reminiscent looks.

"Pleb." Lucius declared with a tone of haughty disdain.

"Sticks and stones, Lucius. Sticks and stones."

"Much as I hate to break up the reunion of Voldie's Bondage Monkeys, I do believe we have a trip to plan." Sirius said, ignoring the indignant glares thrown his way by said bondage monkeys.

Harry really did try not to laugh, but had to resort to biting his fist to stop himself. Draco had no such qualms, laughing openly, the first laugh that Harry had heard for a while that wasn't bitter and pain-filled. He wasn't the only on who was glad about this, by the looks of relief that Narcissa and Lucius exchanged. He had to wonder how much of the banter had been staged for Draco's benefit, but when he gave Sev a questioning look, he just gave a half smile, and raised his glass of water in a mocking toast.

A/N Well, I can only apologise humbly for the delay, and blame it on a combination of planning my future and writing my other fic. But here's some plot to make it all up to you. I wonder of someone would volunteer to beta my next chapter, as I think it might be pushing the rating up to an M. Put a note in your review, or e-mail me personally, if you fancy being really really kind. Oh, and 'Verity' means truth. I don't care if it's a girl's name. I just think that it fits for how I'm portraying him. I apologise if he seems a bit OOC, but he's my plot-slave. Heh heh heh. Please review, I had an unbelievable amount of trouble with this chapter, closing up a few plot holes I hope. Thank you to those who have reviewed already. It is appreciated greatly.


	20. Chapter 20

_The place reeked of lust and cigarettes. Music blared out, pulsing and insistent; some form of Muggle Jazz, no doubt. It coiled sinuously among the couples, through the smoke, avoiding the dim lights like a snake. He had been drawn in by some sort of instinct, with no clue of what this place was or why he was here. This was unusual. From the age of six, he had planned his actions with a cold and meticulous care. He schemed months in advance; intuition and impulse were dangerous and unpredictable, and, in this case, illegal. _

_He let his eyes adjust to the darkness. There seemed to be couples everywhere, kissing with a passion he had never seen nor felt in his life. He encouraged distance not affection. He put the gnawing hunger in what remained of his heart down to the cold, not the sight of companionship and love, mixed with the danger that homosexuality brought with it in the Muggle world. The couples were kissing as if it were their last night together. For many, it would be their only night together._

"_So you like to watch then?" _

_He spun round, eyes narrowed, ready to draw out his wand and hex the owner of the husky purring voice that tempted him to lose control, to be as they were. Instead he gazed at the man with the audacity to disturb him. His clothing was obviously Muggle; a grey suit, and he was older, about forty. His hair was black, swept back from his forehead; his eyes were green and amused. He carried a cane, much like Malfoy senior did. He appeared to be a dignified, controlled man at his peak, commanding respect. But Tom sensed something within him. . . His eyes held amusement, yes, but a dreadful hunger shone from deep within their depths. His mouth was firm, but his smile hinted at a lasciviousness that held no affection, no clean simplicity. He was ripe, corrupted, ruled by unnameable hungers and desires. He was perfect. Tom made his smile curve timidly, cast his eyes to the ground as if shy and demure, and stammered out some explanation. This could be a lesson in manipulation, in control._

_He allowed himself to be steered to a corner of the room, to be given a measure of brandy that made the writhing couples blurry and glittering with feeling and light. He allowed the man to catch him under the chin and turn his face this way and that, examining it with hooded eyes._

"_Such a pretty boy. It's a wonder that you are still such an innocent, with a face like that. So…untouched. So eager." _

_Tom nodded, eyes sliding once more to the tablecloth, to hide the sudden flare of red that showed within his eyes as he thought precisely what he was so eager for. _

"_Well, if I do not take you under my wing, someone worse will. And I could not have that. I promise I'll be gentle." His voice was as caressing as the thumb that ran across Tom's lips, causing his pulse to quicken. Then his tone filled with dark promise. "Come outside with me. I shall teach you such things. Such wonderful things." Tom nodded, once. _

_8-8-8-8-8_

_If Tom had believed in anything other than power, he would have murmured incoherent pleas to the Gods, as his nails scrabbled for purchase on the wall, as his cheek was pressed, grazed, against it. The sharp pain dimming to waves of pleasure almost as painful, the red stars behind his eyes, the man's hands everywhere, his lips kissing, suckling, whispering such words into his ear. This intimacy, this touch, this man flaying him bare to the world, making him forget who he was, making him forget his hates, ambition, all exploding outwards, sending him to the stars where he had told himself he would stay on the ground for all eternity. _

_He shattered as he climaxed, dropping to the floor in a panting mess, knees giving way, only able to gasp. He heard the man behind him fasten his clothes and chuckle softly, indulgently at the spectacle Tom presented, in a wanton heap. Tom looked for long moments at the man, impeccably dressed, at his smile, his wicked eyes, his cane with the many nicks cut in it. He forced himself to remember the craving for intimacy, the loss of control, the surrender to pleasure. He fastened them all onto this one man. They died at the same time that his body hit the floor, face registering utter surprise. _

_Smiling slightly, Tom Riddle pulled himself up and straightened his clothes. From his pocket he drew a gold cup and twirled it about in his fingers. This death would make a worthy addition to his collection. The last time he would allow anyone near him in such a way again. Now he was purged, purified, and free of the hunger. He would put it into Hufflepuff's cup. Into the house that prized love and loyalty above all else._

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Harry shook as he held the cup loosely in his cupped hand. _Love and loyalty_. That fool had rejected it, scorning it, having been so deprived of it as a child. _There but for the grace of the Gods…_And what a way to last experience love, as coercion, each exploiting the other, a lustful anonymous encounter which should have had no emotion within it. And yet it was the closest to love Riddle had thought he would ever get. Harry felt tainted by it, by the insanity in Riddle, and the control. His was a madness in a tight band of iron, ever searching, ever wakeful, and filled with a dreadful scheming awareness. He looked up at the stars in the alleyway outside the now dilapidated club, hearing the lights, smoke and laughter across the decades. He felt too weak to move, too drained, and tried to gather his strength so he could get out as soon as possible.

"Dreaming, Potter?"

Bellatrix stood there, wand outstretched, a taunting grin pulling her face in a kind of rictus. He was trapped; when he tried to Apparate, a force stopped him. By her look of triumph, Harry guessed that she had blocked off the alleyway. He only hoped she was working alone. He stood up smoothly, holding the cup in his left hand and his wand in his right, ready for her worst.

"Ah, it's Tom Riddle's jester. So glad you could join me. See, I've found something your master wants, and wondered if you'd like to give it to him."

She didn't move, waiting instead to see what he was going to do. He had no idea why she didn't just go for him, but wasn't exactly complaining. Had it been Sev, he wouldn't have had a chance. _Tsk tsk. Standards aren't what they used to be._

He kept his grip on the cup of the goblet, and, summoning every scrap of both physical and magical energy he possessed, crumpled it up as if it were paper.

He kept eye contact with Bellatrix, even as the metal cut into his palm, and the scrap of Riddle's soul shot like black lightning through his hand; even as he felt the hungry, needy darkness coalesce around his own soul and his magic fight it. Slowly, painfully, the blackness was forced out, leaving his body the only way it could: through his scar. At long last, Harry broke her stare as he collapsed to the floor in a haze of black tinged agony.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

"I think I'll name this bed after him. Or perhaps the whole ward. He's putting all the grey hairs on my head. Between the two of you, Severus, you'll keep me out of retirement for years! See, he's stirring now. I told you he was alive. Now stop fussing, dear." Harry could not imagine anyone telling Sev to stop fussing. But in the ward, Madam Pomfrey reigned supreme. She _bossed_ people back to health. He smiled slightly at the thought, and opened his eyes sleepily. Sev was standing at the foot of the bed, arms folded.

"Idiot. You should have got out as soon as you had got the cup, not wait for Lestrange to corner you."

He was genuinely angry with him; Harry supposed it looked as if he was playing at gloating by staying in the alleyway. He had not heard him use that voice to him in so long, and it hurt more than it would have done before. He kept the sarcasm out of his tone as he levelly explained to Sev.

"I didn't have the strength to move. Riddle's memories were…traumatic. They left me drained, otherwise I would have come straight back. I don't take risks like that, Sev; I don't throw away my life for a moment of cheap glory. I thought you knew me better than that."

He heard the whine in his voice, and felt the tears prickling his eyes as he stared resolutely down at the bedcovers. He felt Sev sit down on the bed and capture his chin with a firm hand.

"Harry, look at me please. I apologise. But you risked a lot in that stunt. You could have lost an arm, as it is, we do not know what the damage will be."

Harry looked up and into Sev's eyes. There were shadows under them, and his face seemed more heavily lined than before.

"You were worried," he said quietly, feeling the heavy weight of guilt settle, and the tears threaten him once more.

"You caused a hell of a lot of damage to yourself. Again. For a few hours, it was touch and go."

"What happened after I collapsed?"

"Bellatrix became a little bit…unbalanced, and started shrieking and kicking you. This was when Black came along on one of his metal monstrosities and scooped you up and out of harms way. Bellatrix we left behind; after he removed her wand. She does far more damage to Riddle when he has to keep on saving her. He would probably thank us for imprisoning her. Don't scowl, Harry. You know it makes sense. He has to keep her bizarre appetites sated, and tolerate her going off and playing commander on lone missions. She is a loose cannon, and a danger to him."

Harry nodded. It _did_ make sense, but still, he wanted her to pay, and pay dearly. He stifled all happy thoughts of revenge once more, even more cautious of becoming like Riddle.

"Harry, what did you see? What can I do to make it better?" Sev's voice was blessedly familiar, concerned, filled with love and tenderness.

He couldn't talk about it yet; the memories were too fresh, too raw.

"Just hold me, please. Until I go back to sleep."

"Of course. Always."

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Aniseed and sandalwood, Harry decided, were his favourite smells. To him, they were warmth and comfort, a protection from the world. He also decided he liked his hair being stroked very much. His third decision was to go back to sleep and stop thinking. It wasn't that hard to do so, really.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

_"Ah, Harry, dear boy. So glad you could drop in. would you like some tea? A biscuit? A lemon drop?" Dumbledore beamed at him, eyes twinkling. He was wearing his purple robes with gold moons and stars on them, and, for some bizarre reason, he had a paintbrush stuck behind his ear._

_"I'd like all three, thank you."_

_Once the tea was poured, and Harry was trying to decide if lemon drops really went with tea, Dumbledore examined him closely._

_"So, another Horcrux gone then, Harry. The snake, the locket, the ring, the diary and the cup. The cup that was reputed to have held Helga's tears as she mourned the rift between Godric and Salazar. 'The Cup of bitter sorrows', as some call it. It was always going to be the most difficult, Harry. But confiding in Severus will ease your heart. Trust in him, and do not be afraid to burden each other. You need to be able to tell him everything, so you can aid each other as you go down this untrodden path. And no, dear boy, lemon drops do not go very well with tea. Alas, my two favourite things will never compliment each other. Not even in the afterlife. It is one of the great mysteries. Well, goodbye, dear boy, do pop in again. I think you'll find that Cockroach Clusters go rather better with tea. I have an infinite number of sweets at my disposal. Now back you go."_

_8-8-8-8-8-8-8_

His fingertips looked as if he had dedicated an absurd amount of time to colouring in the lines on his fingerprints and painted his nails, but, thankfully, he still had most movement and feeling, and the blood was flowing fine. He was lucky, it was mainly surface damage.

"So, the black fingernails are going to doom me to an eternity of looking like a wannabe Goth who can only hold a nail-varnish brush with one hand?"

"Amateurish, Harry, but quite unique," Sirius grinned, sitting at his bedside table writing yet another invitation to a Hell's Angel colleague.

"Is anyone going to give me sympathy?" Harry asked the room in general with an air of mock plaintiveness.

Sirius chuckled and shook his head. "Nope. Just thank your stars that you weren't seized by an uncontrollable desire to crush it with your thighs. Otherwise blackballed might have held a whole new meaning."

Harry winced. "Remind me never to complain to you again," he said fervently, feeling the urge to check that they were still ok.

"Besides, you can stick little stars on your nails. Start a trend."

"Or, alternatively, hope that it will wear off. Not all of us dress like we've been freshly dug up," Sev interjected, keeping a straight face, though the side of his mouth twitched.

Harry suddenly remembered something that had troubled him.

"The man Riddle killed looked a lot like me." He said awkwardly, twisting the bed sheet in one hand.

"Show me," Sev said, not commenting on its significance.

Harry dredged up his image and met Sev's eyes, waiting as Sev considered the man's black hair and bright green eyes.

"Completely different." He said emphatically after a few minutes. Harry looked up, surprised.

"Hair and eye colour are common things to have in common, but he was nothing like you. Not in appearance or mind. I should know. I know you better than most, and there is nothing there. And even if there were," Sev continued evenly, "it would mean absolutely nothing. Faces don't matter. Hearts, minds and intentions do. And you are as far from that creature as it is possible to get. Understood?"

Harry nodded, comforted. Sev would never hide the truth from him; even if it were easier for the man to do.

A/N- Hello there. As the more observant of you may have noticed, I have boosted the rating up to an M. I should probably have done it a while ago, but here it is. So now I can swear as much as I like…heh heh heh…Thank you to MysticSong1978 for betaing this chapter, it was much needed feedback. You're a star. Hope you like this chapter.

Oh, and silversensation, I'm afraid it's your computer, as it reads fine on mine. If you would like the chapter e-mailed to you in full, let me know. Or does anyone else have this problem? Damn bloody technology.

Llassah

xxxxx


	21. Chapter 21

Harry still wasn't using his left hand properly. Although he had dismissed it when people had expressed concern, Sev noticed that he tended to eat with only one piece of cutlery in his hand, and allowed it to fall by his side, as if it were not really a part of his body at all. He didn't comment for a few days, but when he noticed Harry was trying to do up his buttons one-handed it was the final straw.

"So, Mister Potter, were you intending to ever tell me that you were losing function of your left hand? Or did you think that ignoring what is plainly a problem would make it go away? Because frankly, that is a child's attitude to a situation." He felt too angry to try and soften his words at all. Why the hell hadn't Harry learnt enough to confide? Why did he insist upon never bloody asking for the help that he was willing to give? Harry abandoned the shirt and stood, back stiff, fist clenched.

"Because, sir, there is absolutely nothing that can be done. Until the death of Voldemort, the enchantments he placed on his Horcruxes will remain. Even after his death, it is not certain that my hand will ever be normal. _Nothing can be done. _I had assumed that you knew, and were abiding by my desire not to mention something that cannot be changed. It appears that I am wrong about that. Please, forgive me if my attitude is childish to you. If you would excuse me?" His tone icily formal, he attempted to brush past Sev, out of the room.

"Stop right there. I'm not done with you yet." He snarled, catching hold of Harry's arm, his left one. It _stung _him, almost, sending a jolt of pain through him. He swore and shook his hand to try and remove the numbness.

"Oh. It hasn't done that before." Harry said in a detached voice, looking at his hand with a vague curiosity. "Must be a new thing. Hmm. Wonder what else it'll come up with."

It? Harry was calling his hand 'it', as if it were some separate entity, not a part of his body any more. Like he had rejected it…

"Harry. Sit. Now."

Harry sat obediently on the bed.

"Tell me exactly what is going on with your hand."

Harry didn't speak, staring resolutely at the opposite wall. His shirt was undone; face pale, eyes almost feverishly green, pupils far too wide. His breath was quickened slightly. His Harry was scared, and yet he didn't come to him for comfort, as Sev had hoped he always would.

"Neither of us leaves this room until you do." He said, arms folded, deliberately reverting to his potions master persona. Harry slowly met his eyes. A strange smile curved his head and he gave a short laugh.

"You assume that you can keep me here. I could have these walls down in a matter of seconds." Harry's voice was quiet, not a trace of bravado in his words; he was stating a simple fact. Sev felt a shiver run its way down his back. _Something's pretty bloody wrong here_ he thought with an emotion he had never associated with Harry before: fear. This might not be something he could win. He could not command him to speak; he would not trick him, subdue him, or use violence, but he needed to know.

"I expect you probably could, yes. I'll take that risk though." He said in a detached voice. "I'll cling to you even if it means I'll be buried along with you as the school collapses. Repel me, and I will follow. Mock me; I will use only kind words. Hit me; I caress you. I will match your hate with my love. I will dog your footsteps. Now cease this recalcitrance and tell me: _what in the name of the seven hells is going on?"_

Harry looked up, visibly shaking now. He stood up, and walked close to Sev, who expected that he would accept his help, to tell him what was the matter, confide, so he could try to make it better in some way for him.

"You idiot. You think that me _talking _will make everything all right? Oh darn, I cancelled my last friendly get together afternoon tea session with Voldemort. The cakes were ruining my figure anyway. You think that me _talking_ will keep you safe, will protect you from it?" His voice was bitter now, sarcastic, cold. He seemed like an implacable force, determined to…What was he trying to do? Sev tried to maintain the icy logic that had served him so well when his heart was frozen in his chest.

"Keep me safe? What's a danger to me? Why would I fear you, Harry?" He reached out and caressed Harry's cheek, making his movements slow and deliberate. Harry leaned into it, his eyelids fluttered shut, Sev thought that he would tell him now, would calm down enough. Harry looked up, tears on his lashes, beautiful eyes filled with sorrow. He kissed Sev's palm.

"I love you. But I can't be around you." He whispered, then…

He seemed to fade away, melting into nothingness. Sev was left with his hand in mid-air.

"Gone." he whispered to a room that seemed to hum with his absence, not fully understanding what it meant. Harry was gone. He had left. Disapparated.

"No. You can't be gone. Apparation is impossible in Hogwarts. You're still here."

His absence and its impossibility. One would shatter him, the other would keep him whole. Harry hadn't gone. So Sev did the only thing he could. He went to look for Harry. He had searched for an hour when Sirius found him.

"Ah, Severus, do you know where Harry is?"

He smiled pleasantly. He liked Sirius. "No, I'm trying to find him. He disappeared." He said cheerfully. "And since you can't apparate in Hogwarts, he must be here, even though he said he couldn't be around me any more. Do you want to search with me? Hogwarts is so big; there are so many places to look."

Why was Sirius looking at him with such an expression of horror? Why was his face pale?

"Is everything ok, Sirius? You look worried."

He muttered something like "Shock" and put an arm around Severus, leading him to the library. Lucius and Draco were both sitting at a table reading an old book with the most incredibly gory pictures in it.

"Hello." He said "That looks interesting. How are you?"

Lucius blinked. He exchanged a long look with Sirius, then drew out his wand. He conjured a bucket of water, hovered it to over Sev's head. "Sorry about this, Severus, but you sound like Lockhart."

"Oh. That's fine, don't worry about it. What are you going to- AAARGH! BLOODY SODDING BUGGERING FUCKING PUSRIDDEN HELL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

He shook with the shock of the water, drawing his wand ready to hex Lucius with something lasting. Then reality kicked in, and the urgency of the situation with it.

"Oh. Fuck. Harry's gone, with some damn foolish notion of protecting me from himself. He's probably more powerful than the Order combined, he's potentially irrational, and he managed to bypass wards that gave Voldemort a headache, and I've been searching the entire sodding castle when I should be ripping the world apart looking for him. Oh, and I think I've just been given hypothermia. How's your day been?"

"Severus, sit down." Lucius put drying and warming charms on him, and conjured a cup of tea. "No, no whiskey." He said sternly, seeing Severus's look of disgust. He sat down obediently.

"Now. Report." He could do this. It was like being a spy again. He sat straighter.

"He hasn't been using his hand since he woke up, ignoring it almost. I left it, assuming that it was either too painful for him to use, or he had to get used to it first. But when he didn't start using it again, I confronted him. I was…harsh, trying to goad him into talking. He attempted to leave. I reached out a hand to grab him. I touched his left hand, and it…well, it sort of repelled me, sending a jolt of pain through my body, like the crucio curse. But he didn't seem concerned…Well, he was detached, it was as if he didn't really think of his hand as a part of him, as if it were tainted. I tried to talk to him again, told him neither of us would leave the room until he told me, and he laughed, told me I couldn't keep him there. I didn't keep him there. He told me he loved me, that he-" Sev took a deep breath, digging nails into his palms. "He told me that he loved me, but he had to leave, to protect me. And he just disappeared. Faded away."

"Hmm. Other thoughts?" Lucius sounded impersonal, as if he were Sev's superior, and he was just reporting what he had seen. Sev considered.

"He thinks that something to do with his hand is a danger to me, because of the curse on the Horcrux. It sounded as if he was trying to protect just me." He thought out loud. "But Dumbledore, when he destroyed the Horcrux, if he had been tainted, he never warned me about it. I suppose Harry's link with Voldemort is stronger, that he is more susceptible to it, and it is pretty fair to say he would like me dead, but if Harry had been possessed…" He rubbed at his face with his hands, trying to think.

"Had he been considering leaving? He had no bags packed, he left wearing only jeans and a shirt half undone with only his wand. He surely would have warned me…"

"…Unless, of course, he was being stupidly, impulsively brave again. Dammit, I thought he had bloody learnt! If he gets himself murdered, I'll bloody kill him!" He got up and started to pace, ignoring Ron and Hermione, who had just gone over to Sirius and were talking in hushed voices.

He needed to know more about Horcruxes and the curse placed on them. It seemed that he knew somehow that the curse would act in that way.

"What books has Harry been reading?" He turned around abruptly. Hermione was sniffling, and Ron looked pale. He softened his tone. "Do you know where he could have read information about his curse?"

Hermione thought. "I saw him in the library a few times, in the restricted section. He was sitting in his favourite corner, with the leather chair. The book was…It was dark green…I'll do and have a look." She hurried over to the bookshelves, running a finger over the spines. Sev waited impatiently. "A-ha! Here it is." She removed the book; Madam Pince had allowed the three of them unrestricted access to the library, so no wailing was heard in protest.

She handed it to him. "Thank you." He remembered to say, then went over to Harry's favourite chair. It smelt of him. He started to flick through the book, stopping on an annotated page. Harry was forever writing notes in books; although he took great care with Sev's books, his own and the ones in the library had scrawling in the margins. It was entitled 'Posession of an opponent' He started to read.

"The Darkness will infect the opponent, until they perish. They may fight, but it will elude their control, lashing out at those you hate. Thus you may use your enemy to destroy their own side. The possession is nearly unbreakable, and it takes a vast reserve of strength to remove it, rendering them vulnerable to attack. It will eat away at them slowly." Harry had underlined the passage, scrawling words in the margin: 'Scar' 'Horcrux' and 'Sev'. Underneath the newer pencil marks, there was neat handwriting, faded: 'Protection' 'Repellent' 'Destroyer'.

He shut the book. His scar…Why had Voldemort cast such a spell on Harry, when he wanted to kill him? Did he perhaps anticipate failure? But Harry hadn't lashed out in Hogwarts, at Dumbledore, and if there were anyone Voldemort had hated, it would have been him…He thought that he was a Horcrux, and had been cursed by Voldemort twice…The reality didn't matter, because he was going to try and end this enchantment, and would be weak and open to attack, even dead, and he hadn't fully recovered from his recent injuries. "Fool. Brave little fool."

He leaned back in the chair, pressing his cheek into the soft faded leather. He had to find Harry, and bring him back. He pushed his feelings of loss and hurt to one side, and stood up.

"Tracking spells. We need something of his, and we'll try all the legal tracing spells first. Get Tonks, she'll know what can be used. Get all the Order; we'll have a meeting, decide how to continue. We still have a war to plan." He said harshly. Sirius nodded, once. They had to continue working, whatever happened to Harry. Even if it did feel as if they should be dedicating all their resources to bring him back.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8

"Well, at least he's skilled at covering his tracks." Tonks said tiredly as she tried the fifteenth and last tracking spell. "That's all the legal ones and a few borderline ones tried. Know any more, Kingsley, Moody?" They both shook their heads.

Sev sighed. He had been expecting this. "I'll start on a few slightly more questionable ones, then."

Lucius looked at him sharply, eyebrows drawn together. Narcissa was frowning too. "Severus, be careful." She said, worried.

Sev smiled grimly. "I'm always careful, Narcissa."

She looked as if she was going to speak some more, but Sev cut across her. "There's nothing any of you can do here. Carry on with what you were doing, whatever it was. That means you, too, Black!" Sirius scowled, but Remus put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Do you want help?" Lucius asked. He shook his head.

"I'm better working alone." He left the room, and went down to his quarters.

It was hard seeing the room that they had shared and not knowing whether he would ever see Harry alive again. It was harder to get out the box he kept hidden and locked with the strongest charms he knew and open it.

It held a ritual sacrificial knife, vials of basilisk poison, unicorn blood, dirt from his father's grave, one of Harry's blood-soaked bandages from his basilisk wounds, the hair he had kept behind after Harry had had it cut and several other objects he didn't want to think about at the moment. He scooped the box up, put on his cloak and left the room. He returned to the spot he had been when he had first used magic of this nature; the forbidden forest, just outside the protective wards. He had been on the verge of putting a curse on Sirius Black, after he had nearly killed him. He had been found in the middle of it by Tom Riddle.

"_Child, those are interesting spells you attempt there. Why do you try them?"_

"_Revenge, sir."_

"_There are other ways of getting revenge, ways you will not be punished for."_

"_Will they hurt him? Will they hurt my enemies?"_

"_They will, child. You will have all the revenge you could ever hope for."_

"_How, sir?"_

"_I will find you after you have left this school. Then I shall help you."_

"_Thank you, sir."_

He smiled slightly. This time, he would not be interrupted.

He cut off a chunk of his hair, took out the ritual knife and made a jagged slash in his palm. He then took out the bloodstained bandage and Harry's hair, and put them in a pile, sprinkling his blood over it. He took his wand and set fire to it.

"Two halves of one. A soul in two bodies." He whispered, inhaling the smoke deeply. It stank, but he suppressed the urge to retch.

He took a breath, bracing himself, and plunged a hand into the flames. If he had messed up the spell, he would be burnt. He shut his eyes. There was no pain. The flames licked around his wrist, but there was only warmth from them. "Two halves of one. A soul in two bodies." He said, feeling magic now, an old, strong, old magic curling up from the smoke.

He picked up the burning mass and swallowed it. It tasted a fouler than it smelt. "Two halves of one. A soul in two bodies." He gritted, as the magic was absorbed into his body, felt it as it struggled to escape, then felt a clawing at his torso. He gasped, and clutched at his chest as he felt it latch on to his heart, the pain increased, he wanted to die, it was as if he were being flayed, beaten, battered by a force that was more powerful then ordinary magic, like the tides, or a lightning storm. It was primeval magic, dazzling in its scale, old as the world and indifferent to the little wizards who only tapped into a fraction of its potential. He lay on his side and breathed deeply as the pain subsided. When he opened his eyes, he felt a connection, a thread running from his heart. He concentrated on it, following its length, then apparated to where it took him.

He was in the graveyard at Godric's hollow. Harry was lying propped up on a gravestone, face dreadfully pale, streaks of blood and bruises all over his face. He looked up.

"You bloody idiot! What the hell were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that!" He said hoarsely, trying to sit up.

"That's my line, Harry." Sev said wryly, sitting down by his side.

"I'm not going to say sorry. I did what was necessary." Harry said defiantly.

"Ditto."

"Even if it was dangerous, I-"

"did it to keep you safe."

"Because I couldn't stand the thought of-"

"losing you forever."

They both chuckled weakly, but it turned into weeping in each other's arms as they both saw what they had so nearly lost.

"We're going to be in so much trouble with the Order." Sev observed, when they had calmed down.

"Yup. How about finishing off Voldemort now then leaving to live somewhere very far away?"

"Hmm. Could work. Now how the hell are we going to get back?"

"I have no idea. I'm all out of plans. And I expect Voldemort will come and join the festivities soon enough. The magic we used was a bit of a beacon really. But at least I'll be here with you."

Harry shook him. "We're not going to bloody die, stop being so resigned!"

Sev chuckled weakly. "So optimistic. Foolish Gryffindor."

They both heard the crack of apparation and looked up. The intruder's snakelike face was filled with malicious pleasure, and when he saw the state they were both in, he laughed.

"This is absurdly easy" He remarked in an emotionless voice.

This time, Sev was unsure if he really enjoyed being proved right.

A/N Yup, I'm evil giving you that pleasant little cliffie. Mwahaha. I hope you enjoyed this, there are only a couple more chapters to go. i'm going to miss this story. And don't worry, all will be explained….

Oh, and the reason it took so long was because I was trying to think of a dark ritual that didn't sound 'The Beginner's Guide To Satanism' ish.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22-

"So these are my opponents, the ones I am meant to fear? A tired, grubby boy, drained of magic, and a traitor who is clinging onto life by a thin thread are the hope of the wizarding world. How glorious. This time, I don't even need to take your wand."

Strangely, the most scathing comment Harry could think of was 'sod off', so he thought he'd try for the strong silent approach instead. Sev kept a grip on his hand, and he felt a sudden surge of comfort and reassurance surge through him. Taking care not to betray his surprise, he sent his determination, and a bit of his strength back to Sev. Whatever the spell was that had him reeking of the metallic tang of wild magic, it had linked them in some way. Emboldened suddenly, he looked up and Riddle and scowled.

"Thus speaks the man who has brought along his pet rat as a second." He croaked, glaring at Wormtail. "It's so cute, people and their animals…Tell me, is it some sort of friend substitute?"

Riddle stayed impassive. "Brave words for someone who is just about to die. Stand up, boy. I want you to fall to your death, not slump."

Harry was tempted to stay sitting, but decided to stand. He wanted to be able to die with dignity, to take Riddle down with him. Squeezing Sev's hand once more, he stood up, then met Sev's eyes.

"I love you. Know this."

Sev nodded weakly. "Always." He whispered back.

Riddle laughed. "So pretty, this touching little scene. Well, I'm afraid I'll have to break it up. Wormtail, go and prevent the traitor's interference. But keep him alive. I want to see the child he has pinned his hopes on die."

"Typical bloody villain." Harry remarked with a jaunty smile. "Never passing up on the opportunity to gloat. Is it in the handbook or something?"

Riddle smiled once more, a thin lipless smile. Harry noticed a slight narrowing of the eyes, but otherwise he was unaffected. Controlled insanity.

"You won't goad me, boy. Don't even try. Wormtail, do it."

Wormtail scurried over to Sev, shaking with fear. Sev did not look at all scared. His eyes were calm, serene, and filled with a strange determined light.

"And now, we duel once more."

Harry didn't bow. Riddle didn't seem all that surprised by this, simply nodded once and began.

He didn't really stand a chance, and Riddle knew it. He was weakened by the spell, completely vulnerable to attack, and found himself being humiliatingly, painfully injured. After a bout of the crucio curse that left him twitching on a heap on the floor, having bitten his tongue almost to shreds, he thought he had lost his grip on reality when he heard a voice in his head. A voice that sounded remarkably like his Sev's.

"_Harry, wake up. Are you still alive? Yes, I'm real, don't goggle."_ Only Sev's mind voice could sound so wonderfully, familiarly impatient.

"_Yes, I'm just fine and dand_y." He answered with a sort of wry mental smile.

"_Good. Now, I'm going to do something. You won't approve of it, but you can yell at me afterwards for it. Just don't interfere. Lie down and gather your strength."_

"_Yes, professor."_ He answered cheekily.

"_Idiot."_ But the voice was warmly amused, despite the undercurrents of worry Harry sensed there.

Harry pulled himself up in time to see Sev suddenly grabbing Wormtail's silver arm and gripping it. He felt, rather than saw Sev attacking Riddle through the silver arm, and through the connection he shared both with Sev and Riddle, sensed the leeching of power from Riddle through Wormtail. Riddle pointed his wand. Harry wanted to move, to intervene, tears of helplessness trickled down his face as he saw the green light, and heard the hurried, panicked "Avada Kedavra".

His eyes glued to the scene, unable to look away, he watched, stunned, as the curse hit not Sev, but Wormtail, shattering the silver arm in a swirl of black light, sending him flying backwards in Sev's grip.

Sev, even through the pain that the force of explosion had sent through his body, laughed.

"You absolute and utter Dunderhead, Riddle! First you use this marvellous curse that sends the Horcrux from the object into the person trying to destroy it, then you destroy those Horcrux-tainted people. Regulus. Dumbledore. And now, you've killed the last of your Horcruxes. I think you deserve a medal for misplaced intelligence there, dear." It was like Riddle had morphed into Neville and blown up a potion. The sneering contempt, the brutal delivery.

Pettigrew was dead. Killed by the man he had sold Harry's parent's lives for. It made a peculiar sort of sense that he should end like that. But Sev had coldly goaded Riddle into killing him, with no thought for Wormtail's life. Harry had no time to consider how he felt about that.

Riddle was pale, shaking with fury. He strode over to where Sev was leaning and pulled him up, looking as if he was going to shake him. Instead, he grabbed the arm his Mark was on and touched his wand to it. Sev hissed with pain as, suddenly, the Death Eaters started to Apparate around them. Harry stood up.

"Today, my Death Eaters, you witness the destruction of the 'Saviour', the 'Chosen One', 'Dumbledore's little Pet', Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. This shaking, half-dressed, powerless little child." They all laughed as Riddle walked over to him and traced a thin finger over his scar. Harry tried not to make a sound to conceal the pain that contact brought him. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Sev, forgotten for the moment, open up the little box he had brought with him, and bring out a knife. He made a long slash down his arm, bisecting the Dark Mark. He then spilt his blood on the grave he was stood at: Lily and James Potter's. Harry kept his eyes boring into Riddle's, held his attention, but he knew his enemy had sensed something was wrong. He tried to think of something to do, to utterly divert him.

8-8-8-8-8

"_Harry?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_I can distract you, if you want." His voice was like black silk now, filled with some dark promise._

"_You can't. Nothing can."_

_Except for his lips, his tongue, his hands sending jolts of electricity through him, until all Harry could see were those eyes, and all he could feel was a kiss, and all he could taste was coffee and starlight._

_8-8-8-8_

Thanking Sev for the memory, he grabbed Riddle's face, ignoring the searing pain in his scar, and kissed him. It was a bitter, hate-filled kiss, a kiss filled with every scrap of feeling Harry could muster. Riddle didn't respond for a few seconds, then he found himself on the ground, with Riddle standing over him breathing harshly. There was a scrap of colour on his face now; two high spots of red on his cheekbones.

"Getting a bit overheated are we, darling?" He enquired in a husky voice. Sev was talking to…

No. That was impossible. He was talking to a man and a woman, familiar from the photographs Harry had looked at so many times. The man had messy black hair, and the woman was slim and beautiful, with rich red hair. The man nodded, and disappeared, and the woman came walking over, past the Death Eaters, to where Riddle was standing.

"Hello, Mum" Harry croaked, with a grin. "Glad you could join us."

She put out a hand, and Harry took it, not sure if she would be solid or not. She was, and warm. He stood up shakily. The Death Eaters were staring ahead vacantly, not seeming to see anything.

"What's going on?" He asked, taking advantage of Riddle appearing to be rooted to the spot.

"Severus is playing." She said with a hint of disapproval. "He's using himself as a portal between life and death. Others will join us soon. Voldemort can't hear you at the moment but we only have a certain amount of time. Be strong, Harry. We're so proud of you." She hugged him, and Harry felt the bond of love and sacrifice between them strengthen, and with it came magic, and a healing of his wounds. She released him, and stroked his cheek.

"I'm glad you're here, really I am, but I don't- I don't want you to watch me die, mum. I want you to see me alive, not butchered."

She gave a soft laugh. "All is not lost, as long as you have these gifts." Harry heard phoenix song, and tears streamed down his face as he saw who had joined her.

"Love, dear boy." Dumbledore stood next to her, a beam on his face.

"Loyalty." Cedric Diggory waved cheerfully.

"Duty" A youth with black hair, and the same distinctive aristocratic features as Sirius bowed to Harry.

"Courage." James Potter grinned and ruffled his hair with a wink.

"Mercy and forgiveness" Pettigrew was stood next to James, both his arms in place, even his finger restored.

"Sheer perverse bloody mindedness." Sev came and joined the group, gloriously alive, blood streaked but with an expression of peace that Harry had never seen on his face "and an ability to get into more trouble than anyone I've ever met."

"Friendship." Hagrid was a solid, comforting figure, his first true friend, the man who had started his journey with him.

"Kindness." Remus smiled, hair greying, face lined, tired and, finally, contented, and took Sev and Harry's father's hands.

"The ability to hope against hope." Sirius took Remus and Pettigrew's hands, face glowing with an inner light brought by suffering and its transcendence.

"Determination." Neville gave him a broad grin, standing tall and upright.

"Quick thinking" Hermione said, brown eyes wise and knowing.

"And a sodding great army." Ron grinned, and waved an arm westwards. There, illuminated by the light of the setting sun was a group of bikes, their riders swinging great lengths of chain, followed by wizards on foot, the most disparate group of people Harry had ever seen. Some had a peculiar pearly glow, some he recognized from the old picture of the Order. There were a group of Ministry Aurors, and, flying above, three dragons. He laughed out loud, looking at the heroes he was surrounded by, the people he loved the most in the world.

The Death Eaters seemed to shake themselves out of their sleep, and Harry found himself grabbed as the whole group of them Apparated to the head of the army.

"Ah, Potter. Glad you could join us." Lucius said with a smile.

"This is going to be quite a fight. I could hardly miss it." He answered urbanely. The way Lucius was talking, it was a cocktail party!

Hermione unrolled a golden pennant with a phoenix on it cut through with a lightning bolt, and spelled it to hover above Harry's head. It was beautiful, and almost alive looking. "I was going to save it for Christmas, but oh well." She said with a slight smile.

Amplifying his voice, Harry turned around to address the Order. "Right, children, you know the drill. Capture if possible. If not, kill cleanly. Help your comrades, and remember, blood, house and previous allegiance means nothing here. And try not to get killed too frequently." He added wryly. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. "Those of you, of course, who are not dead already. Right, ATTACK!"

The Dark Mark appeared above Voldemort, and Harry made a start towards him. He was stopped by Sev. "We do this together, Harry. And don't tell me not to get myself killed, because I'm not going to live if you don't." Harry nodded, knowing that to keep him back would be cruel and selfish, even though he wanted to protect him from all harm with all of his heart. They walked together, unhindered, to where Riddle stood. The air crackled with power, an immense, corrupt, black writhing mass of it that clung to his skin and coated their joined hands.

"This ends." Riddle hissed, and sent a black bolt of lightning lancing towards Sev's heart. It was quick, too quick for Harry to do anything. He fell, sparks running over his lifeless body. Harry bowed his head, feeling the jolt it had sent to Sev's heart, already too weakened by the spell he had performed in the forbidden forest. He raised his head again, fury coursing through his veins. He brought his left hand, still raw from the purging ritual he had performed on it, up in a claw, and sent a green bolt of pure force straight at Voldemort. It faltered at a shield, and went into the ground, leaving it smouldering and charred. He sent another wave, not caring how much it cost him, because he didn't want to be alive any more, not without his Sev. This one almost broke Voldemort's shield. _One more_ he thought grimly.

"_Harry. Harry! Listen to me, you idiot!" _

_Sev?_ A spark of hope ignited within him.

"_Yes, you imbecile. This blast will kill yo_u."

_I know. But it has to be done, and you're not really alive, you're a trick. _

"_Kneel down, boy. Take one of my hands. Go on. You know you want to."_

He knelt, and took his hand, head bent.

"Pitiful. Grieving little Harry, all the people he loves he gets killed." Voldemort sneered coldly.

"_Good. Now, raise both of our hands, and send the energy. On three."_

Harry looked into Voldemort's eyes. "At least I loved. At least I took the risk. At least I wasn't a coward."

Voldemort blinked. He was about to reply, when Harry unleashed all of the force he had stored up, and tasted the wild, old magic that Sev had used, felt the impact, heard Riddle's scream, and saw his body crumple to the ground. He looked down. Sev opened his eyes, and tried to focus on Harry's face.

"Goodbye, Harry." He whispered. His breath wheezed hoarsely, he licked dry, cracked lips, and Harry could sense the strength leaving him.

"Sorry, Sev. I can't let you do this." Harry's voice cracked, he clung on to Sev's hand as if it would anchor him to his body.

He lifted him up, and pressed his lips to Sev's, twining them together, wrapping his soul around Sev's until he wasn't sure where one ended and the other began.

"_What in the name of all that is sacred are you doing, boy?"_

_I'm going where you go. Your choice. Life or death? Hard way or easy way?_

"_You are such a dunderhead." _Sev sounded annoyed beyond belief. Harry laughed.

_Yes, but I'm your dunderhead. Always. Now choose._

"_I love you."_

_Good. Glad to hear it. _

Severus sighed. _"And I surrender."_

_I win._

"_We win. Harry et Sev Contra Mundum."_

_Damn bloody straight. What does it mean?_

"_Look it up when we get back to Hogwarts."_

_Yes, professor._

A/N. It's finished. And if you don't review, I won't put the epilogue up. So neurgh. Sticks out tongue. And yes, I do mean that.


	23. Epilogue

Epilogue

"Harry and Sev against the World." Harry wanted to have banners made with that written on it, or to have it tattooed somewhere only Sev would see it when he woke up. He shut up the Latin dictionary he had asked Hermione to bring to him and looked out of the window of the infirmary. The first flakes of snow were starting to fall; soon the grounds would be crisp and white. It was a beautiful, tranquil day, a day that Harry had never expected to see. Voldemort was gone, the Death Eaters were rounded up and were awaiting trial, and most of the people he loved were alive. He wished that those who weren't were still here to see the beauty of Hogwarts before sunset. They would be here, to talk and laugh with him, to tease him, or smile, or simply enjoy each other's company.

Luna had perished, killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, Kingsley Shacklebolt had died as he ferried casualties off the battlefield, Mad-eye Moody had died doing what he enjoyed the most: fighting with ludicrous odds stacked up against him, a grizzled old lion surrounded by hyenas, **Cormac McLaggen, who threw himself in front of a curse aimed at Ron, Lavender Brown…There were many others, but fewer than he had expected there to be. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead, a habit he still hadn't got rid of, despite the lack of pain in his scar. No more fighting. The force that had kept him going for so long had left him. Hermione had told him that if he ever felt the urge to alphabetise things, he needed a hobby, and soon. To have ones purpose fulfilled so quickly…**

**His reverie was interrupted by a golden fluttering, just to his left. Reflexively, he caught the snitch in his left hand; his injuries healed enough for him to only notice a slight twinge, and turned around to see a grinning Draco. **

**"You're brooding again, Potter. Come and play." He said commandingly, throwing him his Firebolt.**

**"Whereabouts?" Harry asked, standing up and stretching. **

**Draco thought for a few moments, then a mischievous look came into his eyes. **

**"I've always thought the Great Hall would be a good place to play… It would be risky, but if you're up for it..." he began. **

**Harry was hooked. "Let's put together teams, shall we? Bags I the Weasleys!"**

**And so the annual In-Hall Quidditch match was born. Harry decided, later on, to hold the event in memory of Voldemort's defeat. It was a few beautiful hours of utter anarchy, with far more players on either side than there should have been. Ron and Blaise Zabini were joint keepers for Harry's side, and Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint were Draco's. House didn't matter, blood was immaterial, all that mattered was having fun, and, for Fred and George, dive-bombing Filch. **

**Harry soared and wheeled high above the other players, so high that the enchantments on the ceiling made his nose tickle and the white of the sky made him squint. He dived between pillars and swerved in between banners, surreptitiously enchanting them so that instead of red, blue, green and yellow, they were in colours so bright they would have made even Dumbledore think twice. Turquoise jostled with scarlet, orange, pink, sea blue, purple, silver, gold, and many other hues. A crowd had gathered below, first years shrieked as Draco fake dived for the snitch, scattering them. Harry burst out laughing at their wide-eyed wonder; Hogwarts had not been the place of laughter it had been for Harry, even with his Voldemort's constant presence in his life, and pranks and stunts had been denied them. **

**Draco flew up so he and Harry were side-by-side. **

**"If they're impressed by that, I wonder if we can show them a few tricks." He mused; silver eyes alight with a challenge Harry had never been able to resist, not even in his first year at Hogwarts.**

**"Right then. Shall we climb a bit, and then do a bit of the formation we practiced for the War?" **

**They had trained all of the Quidditch teams they could recruit in combat flying, adapting many of the manoeuvres and formations that were standard gameplay for use in battle flying. Together they climbed, until their heads were brushing against the ceiling, then they dropped, almost freefalling, weaving around each other in a spiral until green seemed to merge with red and the great hall was blurred. Harry was exhilarated, dizzied, joyous, as Draco led them up again, side by side, hunched over their brooms, narrowing their eyes against the air resistance. Suddenly he veered towards a group of first years, and Harry laughed out loud at their surprised squeals, blowing a kiss to McGonagall as he passed her, grinning at her attempts to maintain a disapproving expression. If he had been able to, he would have sung for joy. There was a commotion over at the other end of the hall. Harry darted a glance over to the doorway, wondering who was there.**

**The doors of the Great Hall opened, and Harry's heart seemed to stand still as he saw a tall, thin man clad all in black, a man with eyes that used to remind him of tunnels. A man with a gold, fluttering object just above his head. Harry flew with all the speed he could towards him, tears of joy running down his face. The man didn't flinch as Harry hurtled towards him, just stood there, leaning on a cane he must have borrowed from Lucius. **

**With one hand, Harry scooped the snitch out of the air above Sev's head. Then all thoughts of the game left his head as he slid off his broom, drew Sev to him and kissed him, wrapping his arms around him in the hope that he would never ever have to let him go. He didn't notice as the whole of the Great Hall erupted into cheers, and the Weasleys started up a chorus of 'Harry and Sevvie up a tree'. All that mattered were Sev's lips, and the taste of starlight, and his body, solid and comforting up against Harry's. He had to come up for air eventually, and they broke apart, and Harry held Sev at arm's length, examining him for signs of illness.**

**"You look worn out." He murmured, trying not to grin like an idiot.**

**"Nothing that a sleep in my own bed won't cure." Sev replied, voice husky, and invitation in his raised eyebrow.**

**"Sounds like a good plan. Tell me, how big is this bed of yours?" **

**"There's room enough for another person, at a push" Sev answered, his dubious tone belied by the heat of his eyes.**

**"Ah, good." Harry said, satisfied. Sev looked around at the group of spectators, at the remains of the makeshift Quidditch pitch, and then, finally, at the hangings up by the ceiling. He shuddered. Harry tried not to laugh outright, as he got out his wand, and muttered a spell at them. Now they were black, with **phoenixes on them cut through with lightning bolts, and silver writing across the top.

"Harry et Sev contra mundum" Harry read, and then snaked an arm around Sev's waist. "Harry and Sev against the world. Always and forever." He whispered into Sev's ear.

"You found what it meant." Sev said. There was a hitch in his voice, and his eyes were bright with tears.

"Of course. It _was_ homework." Harry said, sounding surprised that Sev would even consider him not doing it. "Although a detention might not be all bad…How did you wake up?" he asked, curious.

"Our link. You were so joyous to be up in the air, the emotion was so strong, that you woke me up with it."

"Who needs Prince Charming!" Harry grinned, but pulled Sev's head down for a long kiss, ignoring the catcalls. He pulled away, and, seeing that all the people he wanted to hear what he had to say were there, leapt up onto the High Table. A point of his wand, and the most useful spell Sirius had ever taught him meant that every person in the Hall had their favourite drink in their hand.

"I have a few things to say." He called out, in his best battleground voice, one that carried above the shouting making everyone silent and attentive. "First off, I think I might be gay," he deadpanned, making the Hall erupt in laughter and cheers, made worse by Sev calling out 'Why didn't you say?', which caused Sirius to spit out his drink. Harry let them laugh for a while, and then held up his hand for silence.

"Well, we won. We were unprepared, the battle came far too early for my liking, and the only reason you turned up at all is that Severus Snape was audacious enough to force the dead to rise. Hundreds of years from now, no one will believe this ever could have happened. And all of you will be figures of legend, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike. But we are left with a choice now. How is this story going to end? Is it going to end with the storyteller saying that although they fought bravely and won, in the next generation, there was a greater and more terrible Dark lord than this time around? Another evil to rise out of the dust of House Divisions and prejudice? Will they say 'It was a shame, but the sacrifices that they made were ultimately not enough'? Will the dead be honoured in such a tawdry way?" He paused, scanning the crowd. Their faces were sombre; most had either lost or had someone close to them injured.

"It cannot end like that. Each and every one of you has the power to prevent it. So take a leap from your comfortable preconceived ideas. Take the trouble to find out, rather than believe what has always been said. Make the first step." Harry reached into his jeans pocket and drew out a crumpled piece of parchment from what seemed like an age ago, and met Sev's eyes. "Because I did; it won us the war, and made me the happiest man in the world. I have four more words of wisdom to give to you. They were said by the wisest man I have ever known. Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak." He raised his glass in a toast, and the crowd, led by Fred and George, raised their own. The whole of the Great Hall saying Dumbledore's own, wonderfully peculiar words was more of a tribute to him than pompous words and golden statues. The hairs on the back of his neck standing up, Harry jumped off the table and back to Sev.

"I could get used to your speeches," Sev murmured, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. "For someone who dislikes all the trappings of such a position, you're a born leader."

Harry shuddered. "Give me a cottage with roses climbing up it any day." He said emphatically. "I'll be keeping a close eye on the ministry, but I'm not going to get sucked into that murky world."

"What'll you do?" The question was put lightly, but Harry sensed Sev's need for reassurance. He thought.

"You know, I have no idea. As long as I'm with you, I'm not too worried about what happens. But it's strange not to have an overriding purpose."

Sev nodded. "I guess we'll just have to get used to living." He said thoughtfully. "No Dark Lord, no thrice-damned prophecy. Just you, me and the starlight." Harry snuggled closer.

"Sounds perfect." He breathed, watching Verity Lovegood and Percy Weasley walk out in the direction of the rosebushes, arm in arm.

"Of course, we'll have to help set the world back on its feet first." Harry mused as they made their way to Sev's quarters.

"But, tonight, the world can wait." Sev murmured, voice filled with wicked promise, sending a jolt right down Harry's spine, and pulled him into an alcove. The world could most definitely wait…

8-8-8-8-8-8

_The moon was full, so Harry could see everything as clear as if it were day, a silver-dipped world with frosty ground. Dumbledore's tomb seemed to glow, and, as Harry watched patiently, a figure began to melt into visibility. Albus Dumbledore, bearing as regal as a king's, wearing royal blue robes with silver stars on them, smiled benignly at him, face like and yet unlike the man Harry had known and loved. _

_Harry bowed, and, knowing somehow that this would be the last time he would see him in this way, reached for Sev through their link and drew him gently into the dream. They stood side by side, hand-in hand._

"_My work with you two is done." Dumbledore began, voice seeming to resonate in Harry's mind as well as his ears. "Be happy, and know that you live with my pride, love and blessing."_

_As one, they knelt on the floor, and he laid a hand on each of their heads. Harry felt love, strength and wisdom through the contact, and hoped Sev did, too._

"_Oh, and pop in and see me from time to time." He added, voice holding some private amusement._

"_We will miss you." Harry whispered, tears falling freely down his cheeks._

"_Be happy." Dumbledore repeated, ruffling Harry's hair, and then he was gone, though Harry felt the warmth of his hand as a light breeze cooled the tears on his face. They knelt there, together. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said._

8-8-8-8-8-8

The next morning, Harry and Sev walked down to Dumbledore's tomb, as the first light of dawn crept with golden feet over the snow-covered ground. Silently, Harry put the letter he had written to Sev, the letter that had started everything off onto the tombstone. Sev put a paper bag full of lemon drops next to it, and they stood facing the sun.

As one, they raised their joined wand hands, and, through the bond of love they had forged, sent their magics at the small, humble pile of offerings. They watched as it was consumed by golden flames that licked around the top of the tombstone, darting this way and that in swirls and patterns.

At last, the flame-dance ended, and Harry and Sev walked hand-in-hand up to the castle, leaving the top of the once-white tombstone emblazoned with a bright gold and scarlet Phoenix. They had work to do.

The End.

A/N I can't believe this story is finished! Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. This story is for M.D, whether or not he sees it.

All my love,

Llassah

xxxxxxx


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